


A Diamond in the Rough: Part 1

by Moonchild707



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 17:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 121,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21323953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonchild707/pseuds/Moonchild707
Summary: Bella Swan is a timid first-grader at Forks Elementary who lives in dread of her abusive, volatile father, Charlie. With no friends and no one but her teacher to love, Bella finds her life irrevocably changed by the arrival of Miss Hale—a gentle, golden-eyed lady from the local high school. Rewrite of the original. Loosely based on true events.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

It started with the milk.

Standing on the tall, narrow staircase, the girl listened to the sounds of ruckus and and televised sports echoing from the living room. The house was dark—the orange light filtering through the overcast sky outside was too weak to penetrate the windows of her shadowy little house on the edge of the woods, and while it was still too early for her to fall asleep, her father had already commanded her to bed. That was daddy's strange rule—despite what the clock said, if the house was dark Bella was to don her pajamas and slip upstairs, silent and meek as a mouse.

Today, it was only 6:45.

Peering through the rungs of the banister, Bella could not crane her neck far enough to peek into the living room where she knew her daddy was watching the baseball game with a can of beer. She could not tell if he was looking her way, or if he would see her when she scampered into the kitchen to steal the glass of milk she had been craving since before he had sent her to brush her teeth. She was glad she was little—her body was not weighty enough to make the stairs creak like they did when _he_ used them, and she bounced on tip-toe as she considered how she would make it into the kitchen. She took some careful steps down, pausing on each to listen for her father's angry voice, but when she heard none, she crouched on the landing at the bottom of the staircase.

When she was sure her father was not looking—she could see him fidgeting with the television volume—she snuck, as sleuthy as the desert fox she had learned about in science class, across the doorway to the living room and into the small, dark kitchen.

_Mustn't spill,_ she thought, carefully grabbing the handle of the fridge door. _Must be careful… _When she pulled the door open it was with a _cricking_ and _cracking_ sound that made her flinch. The light from the door was harsh—she knew that if he looked over he would see it from the living room—but as quickly as she dared, she reached up as high as her little arms would go and grabbed the carton from the top shelf. It was heavy—she had to use two hands to coax it down—and when she sat it on the counter, the fridge door slammed shut behind her.

Her back stiff and her brow screwed up in concentration, Bella listened for the telltale sound of her father's ire. For several long breaths—she counted them in her head—she waited in complete silence, her hands still outstretched towards the carton that was already secure on top of the counter. Knowing she had to be quick—the longer she waited, the more likely it was that he would catch her—Bella slipped to the cupboard with the glasses in it and dragged one down. It _clinked_ on the counter when she set it right-side-up, but she knew her father would not have heard—his angry, biting curse rang out at exactly the same time. Bella knew then that his team was losing.

_Mustn't spill, mustn't spill…_ The mantra rang through her head so loudly and forcefully that she could not help but heed it. Though the carton was slick with condensation and heavy enough to make her arms shake, she did not dare let it slip as she poured into the glass, making sure not to fill it too high. If it was too high, she would spill on her way upstairs. If she spilled on her way upstairs…

_Perfect._ She tilted the carton upright, taking care to close it before she picked it back up with two hands. Smartly, with a satisfied smile on her little face, Bella marched back to the fridge, prying the noisy door open once more before she reached up towards the top shelf, tilting the carton to set it _just_ right…

_Bang._

The sound hit her before the wetness did, making her jump back in surprise. Bella was not sure exactly _how_ it had happened, but even more important was the fact that it _had_ happened_. _Cold, slick dread rushed through her and she froze on the spot, the pool of milk around her feet growing large enough to slip under the edge of the refrigerator.

"What the hell…" Her daddy's voice made her start and as if shocked back into action, she scrambled to snatch up the leaking carton. It was almost empty now—there couldn't much more than a glass left—and before Bella could reach for the dish towel by the sink, the kitchen light flicked on.

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake…" His voice was angry. Bella was quick to scramble back, wheeling around in the puddle of milk to face him. She knew she was in trouble—the curl of his lip and crease of his brow told her that much. He took all of two seconds to assess the scene, eying the near-empty milk carton on the counter, the growing puddle of white on the clean tile, and his little daughter, wide-eyed and trembling, standing smack in the middle of it all.

"What have I _told_ you," he growled, "about bed time?"

"I'm sorry," said Bella at once. "I was just getting a drink…"

"What did I tell you!?" he boomed. "I ask so little of you, and you can't even do that…"

"I'm sorry…" Her lip began to tremble.

"Get out," he snapped. "Get the hell out."

"But…"

"Go!" The word was so loud that she jumped again, a little splash of milk hitting the refrigerator door from the bottom of her pants. Bella knew it had been a mistake—a big one by the sudden sneer on his face. When he reached for her he was quick, and she was too little to avoid a physical confrontation.

"Don't," she begged, pulling against him when his hand clamped on her arm. "I'm sorry…"

"Shut up!" He was shouting now. "Just shut up!"

"But daddy…"

"Don't!" he roared again. "I said shut _up!"_

She bit her lip when his hand swiped out, colliding with the side of her head hard enough to make her ears ring. She felt her teeth pierce her lip and she began to cry, struggling to free herself from his angry hands.

"I'm sorry!"

"What the hell are you doing out of bed?" he demanded, shoving her bodily towards the stairs. "Why aren't you asleep like I told you to be?"

"I was thirsty!" she wailed. Her face was sticky with tears and her nose was red and runny. "I just wanted…"

"I don't care what you _wanted_," he gritted. "When I tell you to do a thing, you _do_ it."

"But…"

"Get upstairs."

"I'm sorry, daddy."

He smacked her again.

"What did I tell you about that?"

"But you _are_ my…"

"Don't you dare say it," he warned, his finger in her face. His hand was on her wrist now. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. I'm _not_ your daddy."

"But…" Bella sniffled. "I…"

He _was_ her daddy. He had always told her so… The sudden movement of his arm as he shook her made her flinch, her heart in her throat as she tried to figure out just what he'd do next.

"I have never met a kid as stupid as you!" he growled, frustration making him rough.

"I'm not…"

"Who knows who your whore of a mother screwed when she was living under my roof?" he snarled. "Your _daddy_ could be any man in the good old U.S of A. The only reason I've kept you this long is because she was smart enough to give you my name!"

"But you said…"

"Shut your mouth and go upstairs," he snapped. "I'm tired of looking at you. Don't let me see you again until morning, you understand?"

Bella, bringing her sore lip into her mouth, nodded quickly, gently twisting her wrist to get it out of his hand. He released her after a long moment—his eyes never left her face—and by the time she realized she was free, his finger was digging into her shoulder.

"Go," he said again. "Get out of my face."

She did not need telling twice.

Her flight up the stairs was a lot louder than her trip down had been, and she dabbed sloppily at her face as she scrambled away. It was slick with salty tears—she could feel them dripping onto the front of her pajama shirt—but she only stopped to wipe it properly when she was secure behind her bedroom door.

Her heart was pounding.

"I'd better not hear you!" came his angry voice, and Bella clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her fear. She knew he did not like it when she cried—he called her stupid, and a baby, and needy, and hopeless…

She bit down on her hand, sitting on the floor next to the door while her father muted the television—no doubt listening to see if she would obey.

It was only after the sounds started back up from downstairs and she heard the familiar _snap_ of an opened beer can that she dared rise from the floor. The rush made her head throb—he had smacked her hard this time—and it was only when she went to crawl back under her pink comforter that she noticed the wetness on her thighs. She did not know when the accident had occurred—had her daddy noticed it downstairs?—but carefully, her face hot with shame, she peeled off her fluffy pants and soiled underwear. It was only after she had slipped into a new pair—a used set from the laundry hamper—that she stashed the dirty ones in the old box under her bed.

There were three others in there that her daddy had yet to notice.

By the time her tired, scratchy eyes grew heavy enough for sleep, Bella had forgotten all about the milk.


	2. Chapter 2

"Get up." Jolted from sleep by her daddy's hot, rough hand on her shoulder, Bella carefully peeled her eyes open and blinked away the spots swimming in her vision. When her eyes focused she saw that he was leering at her, his lips pursed as he pulled her covers away. The cold air in the bedroom made goose bumps pebble her skin, and though she longed to tug her sheet back up, she didn't dare.

"Clothes are over there," said daddy, pointing to the bureau. Bella spotted an old, wrinkly skirt and a plain white t-shirt, both thrown in a haphazard pile. "When you're dressed, come downstairs."

"Okay."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Don't take too long. If you miss the bus you'll be in trouble."

"Okay."

He shut the door with a little _snap._

Padding her way carefully to the bureau, Bella tried not to notice the cold on her bare feet. There were no socks in the pile—she supposed she would have to find those herself—but he had remembered to find a pair of underwear, and neither the skirt nor the shirt were too small for her. Remembering the rule about tags—those always went at the back—Bella dressed herself in as little time as possible, finding an old pair of lace-trimmed socks in the back of her top drawer. They were tight on her feet—they had fit her in kindergarten, after all—but she managed to stretch them past her ankles, and she supposed they would do for today.

"Did you brush your hair?" asked daddy just as soon as she got downstairs.

"No."

He grunted. "Go back up and do that."

"Okay."

Scrambling back up the stairs, Bella reached the small, cramped little bathroom and flicked on the light, waiting a few moments for it to buzz to life. She could not see the mirror—she was too short—but she found the old, wooden stool her daddy sometimes used to change the light bulb on the ceiling. Stepping up onto it and reaching into a drawer, she found the old hairbrush her daddy had saved for her from the last lady who had come to stay with them, and raked it through her hair.

Her hair was thick and long, and though she tried to be gentle around the sore spot where her daddy had struck her the night before, she couldn't stop the brush from tugging as she brought it down. She bit her lip—it was what always stopped her from crying when she didn't want to—but she remembered the cut on it when she tasted a trickle of blood on her tongue. She had forgotten that she had bitten herself…

"Hurry up!" Daddy's voice was noisy. "If you want food, get down here."

"Okay!" she cried. Abandoning her half-brushed hair, Bella stuffed the hairbrush back in the drawer she had found it in, and made sure the stool was slid back against the wall before she turned off the light. Her daddy was seated just where he had been when she had left him—at the head of the small dining table—but this time there was a small bowl of dry Cheerios and a shiny, red apple by the seat next to him.

"Eat," he said. "And then go brush your teeth."

"Okay." He grimaced.

"Thank you," she amended quickly, taking a handful of the sticky, sweet rings. She plopped a few in her mouth, crunching them between her teeth and wishing that she hadn't spilled all the milk.

Cheerios were always better with milk.

"Quick," said her daddy. "I don't have all day. That bus will be here in ten minutes."

"Quick!" she repeated, jumping up. There were still some Cheerios in her bowl—she never managed to eat them all—but she had bitten the apple down to its core. She threw the cereal in the trash along with the core and placed her bowl in the sink, though she was unable to reach the tap to rinse it.

"Quickly!" he said again. "Chop chop!"

Bella scrambled back to the bathroom.

When she made it downstairs for the third time—she knew she could not be sent back again that morning—her father had her ratty blue backpack in his hands and a brown paper bag on the table.

"There's a sandwich and another apple in there," he grunted. "Make sure you eat it."

"Okay."

"And what are you going to say when Miss What's-her-Face asks you about your lip?"

"My lip?" asked Bella, bringing a hand up to her face. The flare of pain reminded her of last night's incident, and her face went red.

"Dunno," she shrugged. Her daddy scowled.

"Yes, you do know," he said. "What do we tell the teacher when she asks questions?"

"Fell down," grumbled Bella. "Or was playing outside."

"Right."

Bella glared up at him.

"But I _didn't _fall," she muttered. "I got _hit."_

"Listen here." Charlie's face was very close to hers now. "If you tell your teacher that you got hit, you'll get sent somewhere far, far away. There won't be a nice bedroom for you there, or someone to look after you. The police would have to come for you, and then what? Do you want to go to jail?"

Bella frowned. He had told her this many times before—if people found out that sometimes her daddy wasn't nice to her, then the police would come to take her away. Then she would be arrested, and she would have to go to a jail for kids who didn't have families.

Bella did not like her daddy very much, especially when he hit, but she was more scared of police and jail than she was of him.

"I don't want to go to jail," she whispered, shaking her head. "I didn't do anything bad."

"They won't care," he said. "I used to _be_ a police officer. Don't you remember?"

And Bella nodded, because she did.

"I took kids from their families all the time," he said. "So you just tell that teacher that you fell, and no one will come for you."

"Okay." He watched her for a moment.

"Good."

She picked at her fingernails.

"Be a good girl at school," he said finally, stepping away from her once she had her backpack in hand.

"I will." She slipped her feet into her purple sneakers.

"Go on, now. You'll miss your bus."

"Bye," she said, her hand resting on the knob.

"Yeah."

When she clambered her way outside, slipping on the slick, wet wood of the front porch, she had just enough time to sprint down the driveway before the big yellow bus rounded the corner and pulled to a squeaking halt on the black asphalt. The driver, Mr. Sorenson, gave her his usual morning smile, but this time he frowned when she made it to his side.

"You look like you took a tumble," he said, jerking his chin at her face. The doors closed behind her. "What happened?"

"Playing," she shrugged, the lie thick and sticky on her tongue. "Just fell down, I guess."

"You ought to be more careful," he said. His eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Go on and have a seat. I kept the front one empty, just for you."

Bella, despite her dull mood, perked up at the sound of that—she loved the front seat, and she was glad Mr. Sorenson let her have it.

It was only when the bus had turned off of her street, stopping twice more for some other kids in Bella's class, that her peaceful bus ride turned sour.

"Nice baby socks, Smella Bella," crowed Lauren, a pretty girl with a high, blonde ponytail. Bella frowned, looking at the tight lace wrapped around her ankles, and tucked her feet away under the seat.

"Go away." Lauren laughed, leaning over the aisle to sneer.

"Only babies have those kinds," she teased again. "Are you a baby, Bella? Is that why you wear baby clothes?"

"They're not," protested Bella, looking down at the pink skirt around her legs. "It's just my clothes, that's all…"

Lauren jabbed her with a sharp fingernail.

"Aw, is baby going to _cry?_ Are you…"

"That's enough, Lauren. Keep your hands to yourself." Mr. Sorenson, who was rarely ever cross, sounded growly and upset.

"Yes, Mr. Sorenson," said Lauren, the sugary sweetness of her teacher voice making Bella grimace. Lauren had always been rude, but it was only since Sue, the lady that lived in Bella's house, had fought with her dad and moved out that Lauren had started being outright _mean. _That was when Lauren had started teasing her about having no mom—something that bothered Bella more than she would ever let on. Bella had tried explaining that Sue was _not_ her mom... she was just a nice, sweet lady who lived in her daddy's bedroom and sometimes made pancakes before school.

But Lauren would not listen.

This time, however, Lauren did as she was told—she sat primly in her seat and didn't speak to Bella again. But not even Mr. Sorenson, kind and gentle as he was towards Bella, could stop the narrow-eyed, accusing glares Lauren shot towards her every time the driver wasn't looking.

When Bella made it off the bus, running away as fast as she could from Lauren and her cronies, she was the first one lined up outside Miss Casey's first grade class. Bella liked being first—Miss Casey always smiled at those who weren't tardy—and she knew that if she waited nicely in line and did not act out, she might get a treat at afternoon recess.

School, though Bella did not always like the work, was the part of her day that she looked forward to most. It was true, of course, that girls like Lauren Mallory and Jessica Stanley made things hard for her, but neither one of those little girls could ever measure up to her daddy and his mean attitude. Bella loved her cubby—she was always sure to keep it extra clean—and she loved the picture books, which Miss Casey would sometimes let her borrow for a night or two. The class hamster, Fuzz, almost never bit her when she stuck her fingers through the bars of his cage, and when it came time to do some number problems, Bella would excel.

Today, after Miss Casey's wide smile made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, Bella sat on the carpet in front of the large calendar that they always used to start their day. She helped talk about the weather (like always, it was raining), and a boy Bella barely knew had lost a tooth on Saturday night. It was only during the singing of Happy Birthday, which they sang for Jessica, that Bella hesitated—every time she sang, she could not help but think of her daddy, who did not like any of her songs or noise.

"We have some very special news, boys and girls, so I need all eyes up front," said Miss Casey, drawing Bella out of a daydream as they finished up calendar time. "Are we all listening?"

"Yes, Miss Casey." The collective voice made Bella shiver.

"Good. Tomorrow morning, when you come to class, we will have a special guest joining us. Her name is Miss Hale, and she is a student at Forks High School."

No one spoke.

"She is going to be helping us during our school day," said Miss Casey. "So I want us all to do our best to make her feel welcome."

Bella, along with the other kids, nodded. As the news sunk in, many of the other children began to titter and whisper among themselves, little voices carrying and overlapping as the volume grew.

Bella, her face solemn, kept her gaze glued on Miss Casey. Her beloved teacher had never shouted or lashed out at any of the students before, but Bella wanted to be absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure that today would not be the day that Miss Casey snapped. If Bella had ignored the rules at her daddy's house like these kids were doing in Miss Casey's classroom, she would get a smack for sure…

When the teacher raised her hand—a sudden, but entirely unobtrusive motion—Bella could not help but flinch. Miss Casey eyed her with a questioning frown and Bella felt her cheeks grow warm and tingly.

"Quiet please," said the teacher. "Everyone, eyes front!"

And miraculously, without even one smack for any kid, they all listened.

* * *

"What happened to your lip, Bella?"

Miss Casey's voice, so suddenly close to Bella's ear, made her jump. The teacher, startled, reached out a hand to steady her before she could fall over.

"Nothing," Bella shrugged. "Was just playing, that's all."

She hid the lip between her teeth.

"Don't, honey," said Miss Casey. "You'll hurt it more. It's swollen. Do you want an ice pack?"

"Okay," said Bella, releasing her throbbing lip as the teacher offered her a hand. It was just before recess—all the kids were putting their outside shoes on—but Bella was quick, and she didn't need any help to tie hers up.

"Come on with me," said Miss Casey. "Boys and girls, Miss Julie is in charge while I'm away."

Miss Julie was an older girl from a grade much higher than Bella's. Every day after lunch, she would come to Bella's class to help everyone get ready for outside time.

When Miss Casey, holding Bella's hand, brought her into the principal's office, Bella felt a jolt of real fear. What would her father do if Miss Casey phoned home to tell stories about her? Had Bella been a bad girl in school, just as her father had warned her not to be? Would she have to go and see Mr. Fergus, the tall man with pale hair and a dark, buttoned suit that so frightened her every time she saw him in the halls?

"You look afraid, sweetheart," said Miss Casey, kneeling down before her. "Are you okay?"

"Did I do something bad?" asked Bella, unable to help biting her sore lip as she glanced up at the door. The word PRINCIPAL was stenciled on the frosted glass in tall, foreboding letters, and Bella hesitated when Miss Casey went to open the door.

"No, honey," she laughed. "This is just where we keep our first aid equipment."

"Oh."

"Come on," she laughed. "No one is in trouble."

"But…"

"Come along," she said again. "Mr. Fergus will be pleased to see you."

Bella, standing off to the side in the room behind the frosted glass door, could not meet the strange man's eye when he looked at her. She knew he was smiling and he said a kind "hello" to her when she walked in, but with the worry settling her belly that made her lunch roil, she did not speak.

"Here we are," said Miss Casey, handing Bella the ice. It was cold in her hands. "Why don't you spend recess in with me, and we'll see if the swelling goes down?"

"Okay," said Bella, some of her nerves dissipating. She hated outdoor recess—no matter where she tried to hide, Lauren and her friends always managed to find her.

"Good," said the teacher. "Come and settle in your seat, and I'll find some colouring pages."

"Okay."

Bella didn't know exactly when it happened—sometime between the ice pack melting and her choosing a red crayon for the prince's pants, she let her head rest on her desk and fell into a light, dozy sleep.

"Everyone will be back inside soon," whispered Miss Casey, rousing Bella carefully to the land of the living. Groggy, Bella blinked away the darkness—where was her daddy?—and frowned when she remembered where she was.

"I napped," she giggled, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "And I coloured."

"You did," laughed the teacher. "But now it's time to wake up. We're going to do some science this afternoon."

"More foxes?" asked Bella eagerly, eying the big book of animals they had discussed the week before.

"There just might be," laughed Miss Casey. "You'll have to wait and see."

And not for the first time, when she saw her teacher's dark, twinkling eyes, Bella wished with all her might that when the day was through, that she could go home with Miss Casey instead.


	3. Chapter 3

It was only the next morning, as Bella stood cheerfully outside Miss Casey's classroom door, that she realized what she had forgotten the night before. As always, Bella had not gotten her wish—she had returned home to her own house, where her father had been waiting in his recliner with a pile of empty beer cans strewn at his feet. Bella had been practicing—during music class that same afternoon, Miss Casey had told Bella what a wonderful singing voice she had, and insisted that Bella practice her songs after school so she could come in later in the week and show it off for the rest of her class.

So it was as she was singing _The Wheels on the Bus_ that she walked into the dim kitchen, forgetting her daddy's dislike of children's songs.

"_Shut up!" _he had shouted_, _and Bella had immediately fallen silent_. "Jesus Christ, you come home for two seconds and you're already making a racket."_

"_Sorry."_

"_Get in here," he snapped. "Hurry up."_

_Bella, scrambling to slip out of her sneakers, made it over to him, only tripping on one rogue beer can._

"_Your principal called."_

_Bella's hands went cold._

"_I didn't do anything bad," she protested. "I swear it—"_

"_Shut_ up,_" he barked, reaching a hand out to grip her chin. "What did I tell you before you left?"_

"_Be a good girl at school," she recited. "And I was. I didn't do even _one_ bad thing…"_

"_What else?"_

_Bella frowned._

"_I…"_

"_I told you to keep your filthy mouth shut!" he shouted. "How do you think it was for me, having that pompous asshole calling my house to tell me that he was 'worried for my daughter's well-being'?"_

_Bella did not know what he meant—she only understood the naughty word he had said—and she tried to pull her face away._

"_I ask so little of you, Bella, but you're too goddamn stupid to follow even the simplest directions. No wonder your mother left you here…"_

_Bella did not remember her mother, but the sting of those words made her eyes burn with tears. She did not know why her mother had left—her father had often told Bella that she had gone to find a new family—but the more often daddy told her it was _her_ fault, the more she believed him._

"_Stop blubbering," he snapped. "Let me tell you something straight, right now."_

_Bella swallowed. He tightened his grip on her chin._

"_You are about five seconds from getting shipped off to some home for kids who don't know how to listen."_

"_I…"_

"_Do good girls interrupt their elders?" he demanded. "Is that what a good girl does?"_

_Bella sniffed, shaking her head._

"_So shut your mouth and speak when I tell you to."_

_She said nothing._

"_I want you to pay close attention to what I'm going to tell you, do you understand?"_

"_Mhm…" Her chin was sore._

"_No more cuddling up that bitch, Miss What's-Her-Face."_

Miss Casey_, Bella thought._

"_No more running to her about boo-boos, or ouchies, or whatever the hell you kids call them. You keep your little mouth shut, do you hear me?"_

"_Mhm."_

"_Good. Now turn around."_

"_No!" she wailed, her hands automatically clamping over her bottom. "No, daddy, please…"_

"_Turn _around!"_ he barked. "Now!"_

_She was six years old, so he spanked her six times. His hand on her bare skin stung and burned, and even though she knew he hated it, she could not help but cry all the way through. When he yanked her skirt back up—the fabric pulling roughly at her waist—she was a blubbering mess. All thoughts of _The Wheels on the Bus_ had fled from her mind._

"_If you disobey me again, you'll end up in the closet."_

So when the door to Miss Casey's first grade classroom opened up, Bella was surprised to see a new lady standing behind it. Bella could not help but stare—this new stranger was so peculiar that all the children gawped—but when she smiled, Bella took a careful step inside.

"Welcome, boys and girls," said Miss Casey, standing near the blackboard. "Come on in. You remember we talked about our visitor yesterday?"

"Yes…" A few voices chimed out. Bella, usually the first one to change her shoes and hang up her jacket, was the last that day, as she found it very difficult to drag her eyes away from this strange, ethereal lady who was standing so awkwardly by the classroom door.

Although Bella had seen many other women before, both in person and on television, she had never seen anything that looked quite like this one. Miss Casey, though her hair was light and her skin was pale, did not have the same kind of gold and cream complexion as this newcomer. From her seat, Bella stared up at the new lady, her brows furrowed in concentration as she inventoried everything from the bright red of her high-heeled shoes, to the sparkling, golden eyes that were fixed carefully on the carpet by the door.

"Everyone, say hello to Miss Hale. She will be here for two weeks to help us out with our classwork."

"Good morning, Miss Hale…" The voices rang out at different times, and none of them were particularly loud. Although the new lady only looked up for the briefest moment, Bella did not miss the smile on her lips.

"Good morning, everyone."

The class continued to stare.

"Right!" Miss Casey clapped her hands together and a number of heads snapped around to meet her gaze. "Let's all come down to the front and get started on our calendar…"

But even Bella did not miss the way her eyes lingered on the pretty newcomer, or the little furrow between her brows when Miss Hale lurked at the back of the group.

* * *

Although it was math time and there were plenty of unanswered questions on the sheet in front of her, Bella could not tear her eyes away from Miss Hale.

_3 plus 4… 3 plus 4…_

Bella's pencil fell to the table.

"Are you stuck, Bella?" asked Miss Casey, coming up behind her seat. Distracted, Bella snatched up her pencil and shook her head, wracking her brain to come up with the right answer.

"Remember the candies," said the teacher. "I've got three in one hand, and four in the other. So now I have…?"

"Seven," said Bella, counting them up. "You've got seven."

"Good girl. Try and get some more done, okay?"

"Yes Miss Casey."

The teacher moved on. Bella's attention returned to Miss Hale.

Despite the fact that she had not said a word since her quiet "Good morning" at the start of the day, Bella could not help being enraptured by her. Bella could not explain it—she did not know why she felt so curious, so nosy, about this lady with the pretty face and clicky shoes. Bella was a good people-watcher—she often knew which of her classmates were up to some kind of mischief when the teacher wasn't looking—but today, many of them seemed nervous. Bella could not fathom why—Miss Hale had only stopped at two desks—once by Lauren, who had ignored her, and once by the strange boy Michael, who had done nothing but gawk.

But every time the lady passed Jessica Stanley she flinched away, and Angela Weber would not look up from her paper whenever Miss Hale went near her desk.

It was only after lunch, when Miss Casey told the class that Miss Hale would be helping with yard duty, that Bella found herself growing shy.

Out in the yard, as she did every recess, Bella meandered slowly towards the small sand pit under the stairs to the portable classroom, which was situated near the doors to the school gym. It was not the real sandbox—that was where Lauren played—but this one was hidden under a small landing that shielded her from the rain, and it was so far away from the other play spaces that few of the other kids ever bothered her.

Bella, forgetting about the elusive Miss Hale for just a moment, had all but left the schoolyard behind with her make-believe about sandcastles and dragons and she almost missed the red high heels that stopped outside her alcove.

"Well, what have we got going on in here?"

The voice, so soft and sweet, made Bella pause in her game, peeking her little head out to look. The day was not sunny—the sky was overcast and drizzling—but the brightness of the clouds threw the lady's face into shadow. Bella was mesmerized—she could not bring herself to be afraid like so many of the others, but neither could she speak.

"Are you shy, little one?" asked Miss Hale as she crouched down. "There's no need to be..."

Bella bit her lip.

"Will you tell me what you're playing?" she asked. "I think I heard some talk about a dragon…"

"Yeah," said Bella. "There's my castle. And there might be a dragon. Dunno yet…"

Embarrassed, she turned to her small pile of sand. Miss Hale laughed.

"Do you want some company?" she asked. "I think we could squeeze in together…"

"You want to play with me?" blurted Bella, her voice loud for the first time that day.

"Of course I do," laughed Miss Hale. "Why else would I be here?"

"Dunno…"

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"Okay." Bella, careful to protect her pitiful sand castle, scooched over just enough to give Miss Hale some space. She was much taller than Bella—she had to bend her high, golden head to fit under the porch—but without even a thought for her pretty, clean clothes, or shiny, clicky shoes, she sat right down next to Bella in the dirt.

"How come you're in here all by yourself?" asked Miss Hale, and Bella flushed.

"Because…"

"Because?"

"I don't have lots of friends," said Bella in a rush. She did not want this lady to think her strange, or even worse, _bad…_

"Why's that?" she asked.

"Dunno."

"Are the other kids mean to you?"

"Sometimes."

"Hm…" The lady picked up some sand in the palm of her hand. Carefully—much more carefully than Bella could have—she turned her cupped hand upside down on Bella's dirt castle, taking it away to reveal a perfect mound.

Bella could not figure out how she had done it.

"Well, we could be friends," she said finally, smiling when Bella stuck a twig in the top of their masterpiece. "I don't have many friends either, you know…"

Bella bit her sore lip.

"Friends for real?" she asked.

"For real." Even her laugh was pretty. "Pinky promise."

Bella, knowing that pinky promises were not to be broken, offered her little finger in a solemn vow of agreement. Miss Hale laughed again when she did, but twined her long white finger with Bella's dirty one and let Bella shake their hands together three times—everyone knew that unless you shook three times, there was no real promise.

"Good," said Bella, sliding over a little bit more. "What else do you want on the castle?"

"Whatever you think is best," she said. "Is that a flag over there?"

Bella nodded. "And this is the princess. But she's really just dirt."

The two played in silence for a few minutes more, Miss Hale helping make the castle taller with her hand trick. It was only when Bella, with dirt-crusted hands, went to scratch her face, that Miss Hale spoke.

"Oh, sweetheart, no," she said, taking Bella's little hand gently in her own. "Don't touch that lip with dirty hands."

"Why?"

"Because it might get sick," she explained. "Dirt shouldn't go in cuts."

"Oh."

"How did you cut it, anyways?" she asked. "I noticed it earlier, and it looks a little sore."

"Dunno," said Bella. She pulled her hand away. "Just playing."

"Playing?" asked Miss Hale. "Playing what?"

"Dunno."

The lady watched her.

"Did something hit you?"

"Dunno."

"Did some_one_ hit you? Was it one of the kids in class?"

"No."

That, at least, was not a total lie.

"No, no one hit you, or no, no one in the _class_ hit you?"

"I dunno…" she said again, curling her knees up to her chest. "I just hurt it."

"Honey, if…"

_BRRIIINNNG._

"We gotta go," said Bella. "It's time for inside."

"Yeah, time for class," agreed Miss Hale. Bella did not miss the way her frowning eyes—though not _angry_ eyes—lingered on her fat lip.

When they got to the door—Miss Hale lined up with Bella's hand in her own—Bella turned to face her.

"Miss Hale?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Are you coming back tomorrow?" she asked. Tomorrow was Wednesday—they had an extra-long lunch recess—and she hoped the two could play again.

"I'm not sure," admitted Miss Hale. "I think some of your classmates are afraid of me."

Bella, expecting to hear something different, felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. Of course it would be like that—she would only have a friend for one day…

"Don't," said Miss Hale, kneeling down. "Don't cry…"

"I'm not," said Bella. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm_ not _crying…"

Maybe Miss Hale was like daddy after all... maybe she would get a smack for being a baby at school, too…

"If it means that much to you, I'll come back," said the lady, an odd little smile on her face. "I'm glad you want me to, anyhow…"

"I do," said Bella. She grabbed the hand a little tighter. "You're my friend. We can play again."

"So be it," laughed Miss Hale. "It was good to meet you, Bella."

"You too." The hand in hers was strong. "I'm happy I met you too."

Only Miss Casey, watching from the open school door, noticed the perplexed little smile on Rosalie Hale's face.


	4. Chapter 4

The end of that first day with Miss Hale went by so quickly that Bella, in all her newfound excitement, found home time even more painful than usual. Miss Hale stayed right up until the last bell, but even as she waved her off at the bus stop, Bella could not stop the little puckering frown that marred her face. Miss Hale was so nice to her, and so helpful whenever Bella raised her hand. During science class, Bella had chosen the seat right next to her, and the two of them had listened to Miss Casey's lesson on frogs and tadpoles with animated gusto.

But now, on this bus that smelled like gym socks and bubblegum perfume, Bella could not help but duck her head as Mr. Sorenson's bus got nearer and nearer to her house. Before she was ready she saw the last stop sign, and not long after that, the squeaky breaks were creaking at the edge of her driveway. Bella, though she knew she could not get away with it, toyed with the idea of hiding—maybe if she curled up into a small little ball on the leather seat, Mr. Sorenson would forget about her. Maybe, she thought, if she was still and quiet long enough, she would be able to sleep on the bus and just go right back to class the next day.

But when Mr. Sorenson stopped, he said her name out loud and Bella had no choice but to peel herself away from the frosted window, lagging sluggishly on the stairs.

"See you tomorrow, kiddo!" said Mr. Sorenson. "Have a good night!"

"Bye bye," she sighed. The driver closed the doors when her feet hit the gravel, and she waited until he had driven off before she began to make her way up to the wooden steps.

She hardly noticed the strange, blue car parked next to her daddy's truck.

"Daddy?" Bella's voice was soft and timid as she peeked her head inside the kitchen. The room was dark—the lace curtains in the window over the sink were pulled tightly closed, letting in only a strange, filtered glow. The drippy tap was _plop plopping_ into the empty basin, and the clock on the wall was _ticking_ steadily with each passing second. Bella could hear herself breathing and the shuffling of sand on tile as she wiggled her feet out of her shoes.

She stood in her sock feet on the cold, kitchen tile for a long moment, listening to the sound of nothing for several deep breaths.

_Where was her daddy?_

"Daddy?" she said again, making sure to keep her voice hushed. If daddy was sleeping, and she woke him up with her hollering and shouting…

She shivered at the thought of what he might do.

In the living room, where she usually found her father after school, Bella saw nothing but a tidied room and an open bottle of wine. Her father rarely drank wine—Bella had not seen any since Sue had moved out—and though there were two glasses on the coffee table, Bella did not pick up on what it meant.

The television was turned off. The floor had been swept. The darkening curtains of which her father was so fond were thrown open to let sunlight filter in through the gauzy white curtains underneath. Bella, glancing up towards the ceiling, could see swirls of dust dancing in the wan light, tumbling and twisting through the air as they descended to settle on the wiped-down coffee table.

But where was her daddy?

Unsure of what she should do—her daddy had never left her home alone before—Bella sat carefully on the old sofa along the back wall, kicking her feet out in front of her. The house was too quiet—it made her nervous—and though she could see the remote tucked into the pocket on the side of her father's chair, she did not dare reach out to take it. Daddy hated it when Bella touched his things, especially his television remote, and she couldn't bear to do it, even when he wasn't here…

A sudden, loud _thump_ from upstairs made her jump. Her eyes, wide and frightened, snapped up to the ceiling, her ears straining to hear just what it could be that was lurking upstairs.

If her daddy wasn't home, what was to stop a burglar from getting in?

_Thump._

_Bang._

_Thump._

Bella bit her lip—she knew it was still swollen, and the taste of blood as her tooth cut into the scab again made her flinch.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

Tears pricked behind her eyes. She did not want to go up and check—what if it was some kind of monster?—but sitting in the quiet wasn't a good idea either. What if she made a noise, and it found out she was here?

Oh, how she wished she would have stayed on the bus.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump. Thump._

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump…_

The faster it got, the harder she shook, clamping her hands over her ears. It was some time—Bella did not know how long—before she finally succumbed to the frightened tears brimming up in her eyes, and pressed her face into her legs. The tears made her knees warm and wet, but it was only when a strange, guttural cry rang down the stairs that she jumped, pulling her head away.

That sounded like her daddy.

Making her way up the stairs, one hesitant step at a time, Bella listened to the sound of drawn-out groans. The harder she listened, the louder it became, and the louder it became, the more it sounded like someone was hurt. She recognized her daddy's voice—she had only ever heard him make a noise like that once before—and by the time she was outside his door, she could feel the _thumping_ on the floor.

"Daddy?" Her voice was quiet, and she knew it was too soft for him to hear through the door. "Daddy?"

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Swallowing hard, knowing she would have to help if he was hurt, Bella grabbed the old, rusted doorknob in a tight little fist. Her mouth was dry—she did not know what she would find behind that door—but if someone was in trouble, she had to help.

When she swung the door open, the _creak_ loud in the hot, sticky room, she could only stare in utter confusion at the mess she saw inside. Her daddy, not having noticed her at the door, had taken his clothes off—Bella could see his bare chest and butt as he moved on his bed. His shoes had been thrown pell-mell by the door—she almost tripped over them—though she could not imagine why he would have done so. Looking away—Bella knew it was not nice to look at others when they had no clothes on—she saw a big red bra on her daddy's dress shirt, and underneath her daddy on the bed was an equally naked lady, her legs splayed and her hands in his hair.

"Daddy?" her voice was a squeak—was he hurting her?

"Shit!"

The _bang_ that rang through the room at the sound of her little, questioning voice was louder than any before. When the lady, having pushed her daddy off of the bed, drew the covers up to her chin, Bella saw her daddy's mutinous eyes from his place on the floor.

_Bella remembered when her daddy had come into _her_ bedroom, not all that long ago, with beer on his breath and his pants around his knees…_ But he had never been on _top_ of her like that...

"What the hell, Bella?" he shouted. Bella saw him grab his jeans—he could reach them from where he lay—and she jumped back in surprise.

"I heard a noise," she whispered. "It sounded like…"

"Get out!" he growled. "Why the hell are you in here?"

Bella, despite the lady's bug-eyed staring, did not ask any more questions, and ran from the room as quickly as her little legs would carry her. She heard her daddy cursing and stomping around his bedroom when she made herself settle on the sofa again, her knees curled up to her chest. She did not know what her daddy had been doing with that lady. Boys and girls were not supposed to be naked together—not unless they loved each other very much, like her daddy loved her…

"Fuck, babe, don't go…"

"No, Charlie," said the lady, her voice loud though her footsteps were soft. "I'm leaving."

"She's just a kid. She doesn't understand…"

"Maybe some other time, when you're less, uh _tied down."_

"Goddamn it," said her daddy, his loud, thumping footsteps chasing after the lady's. "Just…"

"Goodbye, Charlie."

"Fuck. Yeah. Whatever."

Her daddy, though he was downstairs now, did not turn to look at her until the lady had slipped out the door. Bella waited, her thumbnail gnawed down to a painful stub, as her father watched strange lady's blue car speed all the way down the street, leaving a terrible silence in her wake.

When he turned towards her, his eyes sharp and hot, Bella thought he looked like a big, black thundercloud.

"I'm sorry," she said at once, though she did not know exactly what she should be sorry for. "I didn't mean to…"

With a roar unlike anything she had ever heard from him before, he lunged towards her in with such speed that she screamed. In three great strides he was before her, two hot hands dragging her from her spot on the sofa.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed again, barely registering the force of his grip. "I'm sorry, daddy!"

He shouted at her then, though Bella could not make out his words. She caught the tail ends of what might have been sentences rendered incoherent by rage, and vitriolic curse words that pierced her heart with fear. She heard him call her _bitch_ and _stupid,_ and _shit_ and _bad_, and though she did not know exactly what some of them meant, his tone pierced her to her core. Her teeth rattled and her head ached as he tossed her from the sofa, his shouting voice muffled in her pounding ears. She knew she was screaming back, though there were no real words coming out of her mouth.

She saw his blow before she felt it—as if in slow motion, she saw the great, calloused hand rise up above her, curling into a loose fist before he brought it down on whatever part of her he could reach. He had never hit her so hard before—he knocked the wind out of her when he connected with her back—and when his angry foot kicked her backside, she went sprawling onto the floor.

Fuming and spitting, her father loomed over her as she lay, prone on the ground and too shocked to even cry.

"You fuck _everything_ up," he growled, crouching down over her. The tears were starting now—a mix of bruising pain from where he had just struck her, and the sheer, utter terror of seeing him lose control like that. When he rose back to his full height, still angry but with some modicum of control, Bella felt the sobs rise up in her chest, escaping her in loud, keening cries.

"Get out of my face," he said finally, listening to the loud bawling on the floor. "Get up to bed and don't make another sound until morning."

And Bella, shocked and confused, watched as he picked up the open bottle of wine and turned on the television, settling in his recliner in the corner.

"Go!" he said again, refusing to look as Bella peeled herself off of the floor. "Get upstairs and do as you're told…"

Bella did not need to be told again. With a startling speed that could have only come from fear, she scrambled up the crooked, creaky staircase and tossed herself into her bedroom, cramming the little plastic chair from her desk under the doorknob.

Only when she felt safe in her closed-up bedroom did her last ounce of self-control drift away, blowing like a fluffy little feather on a cold, windy day. When she collapsed into her bed, her whole body aching, she could have sworn she saw it leaving her, but before her eyes could focus on anything in the room, they were blocked by the welling of salty, frightened tears.

Bella could not remember the last time she had cried like this—she had never in her life been so afraid of the man downstairs as she was now. He had never hit so hard, had never looked at her with such venom and hatred in his eyes. Bella did not recall ever seeing that kind of rage on anyone before, and not knowing what she had done to bring that out made everything that much more frightening.

As the night grew darker, her sobs did not grow quieter. She was sure her father could hear her from downstairs, but she could not bring herself to stop. She cried for her teacher—for the sweet, gentle lady who always had a smile and a kind word. She cried for her mother, a woman she had never known and who had never wanted her. She cried for Miss Hale—the only real friend she had in the world—and for some kind of miracle—for an angel to come and take her far, far away from this mean house that was so cruel to her…

It was some time after the sky had grown black, after her daddy had come stomping back upstairs to lock himself in for the night, that Bella, curled up in her school clothes on the cold wooden floor, cried herself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Bella woke the next morning, groggy and sore, to a feeling of weightlessness in a dark, quiet bedroom.

"Go back to sleep." Her daddy's voice was soft. "I'm just putting you to bed."

Bella, grumbling, fought to sit up, though the way he was holding her forced her to be still.

"It's early," he said. "Not time for school yet. Go back to sleep."

The softness of her bed made her sigh, and when she felt her warm, cozy comforter being pulled up under her chin, she could not help but close her eyes again.

It seemed as if she had only been resting for a few moments when she heard a noise again, but this time there was sunlight streaming through her cracked eyes. She woke in the same position she had been placed in the night before—there was a crick in her neck from falling asleep on the floor—and there was a soft rustling noise coming from the end of her bed.

"I got you some clothes," said her father, pulling out some pants from a basket of clean laundry at his feet. "Come here."

Bella sat up stiffly in her bed, rubbing her eyes and brushing some stray hair out of her face. Her cheeks were sticky—she could feel the remnants of tears as she sniffed against her plugged nose. Her lip was chewed ragged—Miss Casey would definitely notice the swelling again—and she had a headache like none she had ever felt before.

"Come here," he said again, though there was no impatience in his voice this morning. "Sit up."

Bella swung her feet off the edge of the bed, her toes finding the floor as she carefully raised herself up. Her legs were stiff—she had been crouched down to hide under her bed the night before—and the pain flaring through her backside made it hard for her to straighten up.

"Take off those clothes," said her father. "Let me see…"

Bella, frowning and exhausted, did as she was told, stripping down to her underwear as her father's eyes raked over her. Looking down, she saw a dark, blooming bruise spreading along her back and side, and there were finger marks inked in blue on both her arms.

"Turn around," he said, making her pale.

"But…"

"I just want to see," he sighed. "I'm not going to spank you."

Bella did not believe him, but did as she was told. When his hand came to touch her, her whole body jerked, but that did not stop him as he pulled down her underpants.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his face somber. "I didn't mean to get that rough…"

Bella shrugged.

"Sit down on the chair," he ordered.

Bella's legs shook as she forced herself to bend, feeling the pull of swollen flesh as she made contact with the chair. The look on her father's face was not happy—she knew she was making him upset—but he did not say or do anything to make her worry.

"Get up," he sighed again. "And get used to sitting. You need to show up to class since I have to work, but I can't have someone asking questions…"

"About what?" she asked. Her voice, usually so little and calm, was rough from crying.

"Never mind," he said. "Don't tell anyone what happened last night, yeah?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now put these clothes on."

The turtleneck was one she had never seen before—long and dark blue with sleeves down to her wrists and a hem that hung down past her hips. He had chosen a pair of black sweatpants—the ones she used to wear to the community center to learn ballet before she had been taken out for telling funny stories about her daddy to the instructor.

"I'll phone and let the school know you're not feeling well." He spoke almost to himself, so quiet that Bella could barely hear him. "They won't see anything, and they can't very well undress you…"

Looking in the cracked mirror behind her door, Bella saw that her father was right. The inky bruises on her arms were made invisible by the long sleeves, and there was no hint of swelling on her side with the frumpy sweater in the way. Her bum, though it was sore and throbbing, looked completely normal in her old pants, and only the paleness in her cheeks, and the slight circles under her eyes belied any sort of trouble.

"Be a good girl today," said daddy. "We're already too late for the bus, so I'll drive you in myself."

"Okay."

"I gave you some cookies in your lunch. I know how you like them."

Bella shrugged. She did not feel like cookies today—she wanted to crawl back into her bed for a nice, long nap, and maybe find some way to escape while her daddy was at work.

Although Bella had been too late for Mr. Sorenson's bus, her father's truck got her to school earlier than the bus would have. Usually, Mr. Sorenson's bus was the last one to the school yard—she had no time to play in the cold, morning air with all the other noisy children on the playground. Normally, she would go right through the doors and into the buttery, yellow light of the hallway, roaming past its innumerable pieces of artwork hung on cork boards and doors until she found Miss Casey's door.

When her father pulled up to the drop-off spot, however, she saw the clock flash 8:10. That meant that she had ten minutes left of morning recess, and she knew that she would not be allowed to sneak in to her classroom early.

"Have a good day," said daddy awkwardly. "Be a good girl."

"Okay."

"And remember… no telling stories, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now go on."

Slipping from the tall truck, Bella's body jolted when she hit the pavement. Though the movement was not rough—she had jumped from places much higher than that truck, after all—it sent a piercing pain from her back all the way down her legs, and even into her feet. She did not cry—her father would be angry if she did—but instead snuck into the schoolyard and found herself a cozy little corner all by herself. Sitting back against the building—she could see the school doors from where she was—Bella laid down on the cold ground and rested her head on her worn blue backpack.

"Come on, honey, the bell just rang," came Miss Casey's voice, rousing Bella from a deep, dreamless slumber. "Aren't you cold down there? Come on. The classroom is nice and warm."

"Okay," said Bella quietly, taking the hand the teacher offered her. She winced when she stood and the kind teacher frowned, crouching down in front of her.

"Are you sick?" she asked, pressing a hand to Bella's forehead. "Your daddy called and told us you weren't feeling the greatest, but if you're ill you should be resting at home."

"No," said Bella. "I'm not sick."

"Hm…" The teacher looked worried. "Well, come on inside then. We'll see what we can do."

"Daddy's at work," said Bella quickly, a sudden rush of worry creeping up her back. "He said he has to work."

"I understand," said Miss Casey. "It must be so hard for him, doing it all by himself…"

Bella shrugged.

"Well, you can have a seat on the beanbag today," said Miss Casey. "See if that doesn't make you feel a bit better."

On any other day, this prospect would have delighted her. But today, feeling as sore and sad as she did now, Bella could not even feign excitement.

* * *

Rosalie Hale stood still and stoic, just as she had the day before, as the troupe of little bodies filtered in to the bright, busy classroom. Though she was as motionless as a statue, a placid, easy smile plastered on her stony face, she still saw the way the children tensed at the sight of her, their easygoing, complacent faces going wary almost at once. She supposed it was a drawback of her kind—humans were never quite comfortable around her, even when she did her best to appear innocuous. But even still, after so many years, it was always the rejection of children that pierced her most keenly. She had always loved children, had always wanted a family of her own, and each time these precious, playful little creatures were too afraid to even _speak_ to her, she felt a little piece of her heart break away.

She knew they could not help it—it was the instinctual, evolutionary response to danger that marked her as _other_—but the sharp, bitter rejection had not grown easier with the years.

Waiting, as she was expected to do, for the class of first graders to change their shoes and take their seats, Rosalie ruminated, only somewhat resentfully, over the whys and hows that had led to her sudden and unwelcome situation in a room full of six year olds. Carlisle, as he always did, had insisted on his "children" taking up as high school students in their new town—Esme had always loved the Pacific Northwest, and for some godforsaken reason, Alice had all but ordered them here. Rosalie had agreed so long as Emmett could accompany her—she could not bear the mundane tedium of adolescence on her own—but she had not anticipated the awkward classroom situation that had arisen from their late enrollment.

She remembered, almost with disgust, how she had responded to the guidance counselor's question of _"what kind of work interests you_?" with "children", thus landing her this awkward job-shadowing fortnight in the first grade classroom of Forks Elementary. The teacher she had been assigned—a young, vivacious woman by the name of Janice Casey—had been just as wary of Rose as the children.

_Just my luck,_ she thought, repressing the grimace that threatened to cross her face. _Two weeks of hell with a woman who's afraid of me, and children who despise me…_

It was only when the bell rang for a second time, signaling the end of transition time, that Rosalie realized something was amiss.

The woman, Miss Casey, had not yet set foot in her classroom.

"Everyone, take your seats," she said easily, watching as twenty three little humans rushed to do her bidding. Rose had seen the way they behaved with their teacher—all sniggers, grumbles, and tantrums—and she was pleased to see that her intimidation was good for something…

"We're just waiting on Miss Casey, who I assume will be in soon…" she began, pausing when the classroom door opened. Quickly, as if she did not want to be seen, Rose saw the teacher leading the little creature that had so intrigued her yesterday—the tiny, skinny little girl called _Bella_.

"Thank you," said the teacher, rushing to hang up her coat. "I appreciate you getting them all in their seats. Bella's not quite herself today, so we should try and keep close by her whenever we can…"

Rose, though she had not spoken to that little girl for more than twenty minutes , felt a strange rush of protective worry come over her. It was so unexpectedly intense that it was all she could do not to rush back to the cubby room to snatch the child up herself.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said stiffly. A tight smile made the teacher relax. "Thank you for letting me know."

"She seemed to bond with you yesterday, which is wonderful," said the teacher, speaking in a low whisper as the morning announcements started up. "She's such a solitary little thing…"

"Why do you think that is?" asked Rose. Her eyes were glued to the doorway, watching for any signs of movement, which only came as the national anthem started up and she was forced to turn around.

She could smell the child behind her—the flowery, sweet scent that was so distinctly her own. Each time she shifted, Rose caught a whiff—after their sojourn under the cramped porch yesterday, it was as recognizable to her as Emmett's or Alice's. Beneath all that, however, Rose thought she could detect the faint scent of tears—had the child been crying? She could not be sure, of course—no one in her family had cried for decades—but her years of medical training and endless, mind-numbing ventures into public adolescence had given her some familiarity with the salty, briny scent…

The national anthem had barely ended when Rose wheeled around, fast enough to startle the teacher but not so fast that she raised suspicion. Her eyes raked over the girl in a fraction of a second—from her unbrushed hair, to the strangely bulky sweater and stretchy yoga pants.

Her lip, which had been a little puffy the day before, was now red and raw, as if she had been chewing on it.

"Hey there," she said, speaking as softly as she could. The teacher had begun her lesson—the calendar routine she performed every day—and all the children who had been staring at Bella were now turned away.

The girl did not speak, but instead stared at Rosalie with such an intense, plaintive stare that Rose gave in to her urge and knelt down.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" she asked. "You seem put out."

Bella shrugged, tugging her shoulder up to her ear. Rose did not miss the way her eyes flickered down to the carpet, suddenly brighter than they had been just moments before…

"Come here," she said, and knowing it was not strictly permitted, she opened her arms. Expecting some resistance, or at least some type of misgiving, Rosalie was altogether shocked when the child rushed forward, wrapping her arms around Rose's neck. The hot little face buried in her shoulder overwhelmed her with the scent of rushing blood, but Rose had mastered the impulse to bite almost a century prior—there was no chance of danger where this child was concerned. She would not, _could _not, hurt this sad little creature who had shown her such inexplicable, unfathomable trust.

When the little feet left the ground, scrabbling up to wrap around her waist, Rose stood, taking the weight of the child with her, and ignored the teacher's worried gaze as she moved to the oversized beanbag chair at the back of the room. She tried only once to put her down—Bella would not let go of her neck—and so, in a split-second decision, sat down on the bag with the child on her lap.

The girl said nothing—not one peep as the teacher went through the daily events, though Rose knew that she loved to share the weather. The teacher, growing more and more concerned as the lesson went on, kept a careful eye on the two of them but either Bella did not care, or she did not notice. Rose ran a careful hand down the length of thick, dark hair on the child's back, running her fingers through it to untangle the snags from her loose, frizzy curls. Once her hair was smooth and the teacher had begun a segment on tooth loss, Rosalie began tracing her fingernails gently down the girl's back, smiling when the little body shivered and settled in a little closer.

"Are you okay?" she whispered again. Bella's face was hidden from her—a hot, blazing warmth against the cold of Rosalie's neck—but the way her hands were clenched in tight fists on Rose's blouse told her that the girl was not asleep.

The briefest nod, which Rose felt sure was a falsehood, made her sigh.

"You can tell me if you're not," she prompted. "I won't be angry, and neither will Miss Casey."

Bella shook her head.

"Are you sick?"

_No._

"Are you hurt?"

_No._

Rose held her a little closer.

By the time calendar had finished up, Rose knew that the child had fallen asleep. The tight fists that were wrinkling her blouse had slackened, her little fingers falling flat against Rose's shoulder. Her breathing had evened out—her sniffles and sighs had died down—and she had let all of her weight rest on Rose's front. Although she knew she had to, Rose did not want to let her go, even when the teacher had sent the other kids to do some table work before coming to attend to Bella.

"She's sleeping," said Rose gently, rising to her feet. Bella's legs dangled now that she had detached herself from Rose's waist, and Rose was careful to hold her steady.

"Something's not right today," said the teacher, shaking her head. "I'd send her home, but her father is working…"

"Where does he work?" asked Rose. "Surely someone could take the time to come and get her…"

"I'm not sure," admitted Miss Casey. "I think it's got something to do with forestry, so he's likely without a phone until later on today."

"Emergency contact?" asked Rose.

"We've been asking, but there's no one else," said the teacher. "Her father's ex-girlfriend used to be on her forms, but ever since that ended…"

Rosalie grimaced. She knew all too well the potential fallout from failed relationships.

"She's exhausted," said Rose. "Just look at those circles under her eyes…"

"I know," said the teacher. "Can you carry her back to the cubby room? She's not too heavy?"

"She's fine," said Rosalie. "I've got her."

"Good. I'll grab the beanbag, and I'll let her rest until she feels a bit better."

When the teacher had settled the cozy little nest in the corner of the room, even managing to procure an old, cotton throw, Rosalie laid the girl down as carefully as she could. When her arms left the child, Rose saw the puckered little frown cross her brow, but that was quickly erased when the teacher covered her with the blanket, tucking it securely around her little body.

"That should do it for now," sighed the teacher. "When she wakes we can find another game plan."

Rose, stooping over the sleeping child, ignored the sudden and violent urge to scoop her back up, and followed the teacher back out into the sudden noise and bustle of unsupervised six-year-olds.

"Back to work, boys and girls!" she cried. "Remember—we're using the colour green today, so make sure you share your crayons!"

It was only during the lunch period, when Miss Casey had taken the other students outside for a rare rain-free picnic, that Bella began to show the first signs of waking. The teacher had left Rose alone with the girl, sending the usual eighth-grade lunch monitor back to her own room once all the students had been dressed and prepared. As soon as the classroom had gone quiet Bella had grown restless—tossing and turning even in her sleep. Rose found some picture books on the carousel in the reading center—easy, cheerful books that she thought the girl might like—and began to read them aloud, pleased when the sound of her voice kept the child calm.

It was halfway through _The Cat in the Hat_, when Rose was struggling to turn a page stuck together with glue, that Bella woke completely, her big, brown eyes fixed on the pale face of her newest friend.

"Hello there," smiled Rose. "Did you have a good sleep?"

Bella shrugged.

"Are you still tired?"

"Dunno."

"Should I keep reading, then?" she asked. The grin on her face widened when the child's little mouth—pouting and full—cracked into the first semblance of a smile she had seen all day.

"Okay."

"Great," said Rose, turning the page. "I'll finish this one, and then I'll let you pick one."

"Okay."

"Great."

Bella did not speak at all throughout the whole 45 minute reprieve, but instead inched closer and closer to her reader with the turn of each page. She would not say the name of a book, but was content to jab her little finger at a glossy title for Rose to pick up.

By the time 3 o'clock came ticking by, Rosalie was firmly convinced that all was not well in the world of this placid, sad little child curled up on her lap. Much to the chagrin of the classroom teacher, Bella had refused to leave Rosalie's arms after the other students had come filtering in from recess, and Rosalie had been all too happy to keep her close. She took every opportunity she had to investigate this child as best she could, doing everything in her power to draw out something other than one-word answers and vague redirections. She was reluctant to sit in a chair, even if Rosalie promised to sit next to her, but would not tell Rosalie why that was. When Rose had tried running a gentle hand down the girl's back there had been a quick, almost imperceptible flinch when she ventured off to the left side. When Rosalie had asked, Bella had gone almost completely immobile.

So the two sat, listening to all the lessons and participating in none, as the teacher tried everything in her power to coax this little girl, who was usually a model of obedience, into her seat.

"If something is wrong, honey, you need to tell us so we can help," wheedled the teacher. "It's almost home time, and you say you're not sick…"

"No," agreed Bella. Rosalie concurred—she had laid hands on this girl for most of the day, and not once had she suspected a fever.

Rose watched the grim set of the teacher's mouth as she pursed her lips, her eyebrows pinching together in grim, but suspicious, frown.

"Are you hurt?" she asked gently. "Miss Hale noticed a sore spot on your back… can I take a look?"

"No," said Bella, this time with more gusto.

"No?"

Rose felt the girl tremble. She understood the teacher's sudden suspicion, and she knew what kind of call she would have to make once she had dismissed the other children in the class…

Rosalie could not bear to _think_ it.

Holding the girl a little closer and whispering a gentle, tender missive in her ear, Rose felt the thin little arms renew their strength around her neck.

"_It'll all work out, sweetheart. You'll see. Tell me all about it…"_

But still, Bella did not speak.

"It's time for the bus, Bella," said Miss Casey, and Rose's glare was so venomous that the teacher could not even pretend to ignore it.

"Surely you can't mean…"

"We have no choice," soothed the teacher. "Anything less is kidnapping, which will get everyone into a heap of trouble. Believe me, I'm making a call just as soon as my kids are out of here…" As if in premonition, the bell rang and the youngsters began to file out.

"That's not…" snapped Rose, biting her tongue just in time to avoid a scandal. "It's…"

"I know," she said. "Believe me, I know. Things like this are never easy, especially not when…"

She did not need to finish her sentence. The sight of the girl in Rose's arms—so little and sweet—was enough to send anyone reeling. There was no proof that her father had done anything untoward—Bella had not said or shown anything, other than this strange non-illness—but the fact remained that it was a _possibility._

"It's time to let her go," said the teacher. "She'll be back tomorrow."

"I cannot, in good conscience, let her go back to that place…"

"Rose, come on."

The sound of her husband's voice, so sudden and startling in the now-empty classroom, made the teacher jump. If she had been fearful of Rosalie, she was absolutely terrified of Emmett—he was tall where Rose was short, bulky where she was thin, and despite the dimples and rugged, curly hair, he had always emanated a distinct air of dominance. Even as he stood, leaning casually against the door frame, Rose could see how he might spook a timid, careful little human like Janice Casey.

"Um…"

"Sorry, this is my…" Rose frowned.

"Emmett Cullen, at your service," he said, giving the teacher a bright grin and a mock bow. "I'm here to pick up Rose."

"Cullen…" Rose saw a spark of recognition on the woman's face.

"Yeah, our dad's the new doctor," said Emmett. "Started last week. Rose and I are riding home together so our sister, Alice, can get some driving practice on her way home from the high school. She's going to drive Rose's car, and Rosie is coming with me."

"Well," spluttered the teacher. "I suppose you should get going then. I'll take care of Miss Bella."

Rose, her eyes glued on Emmett, carefully pried the frightened child away from her neck, settling her down on the big beanbag she had been occupying all day.

"I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart," she said. "Okay?"

The child's lip trembled.

"I want…"

"Yes?" asked Rose.

"I..."

Rosalie heard Emmett hold his breath. He had never seen the child before now, but Rose knew he would be paying close attention.

"I want..."

"What do you want, Bella?"

"I want…" Her little voice shook. "I want to go home with _you."_

Had she been human, Rose was sure those words would have made her weep.

"I'm sorry, honey," she said. "I'm so sorry. I'll be back tomorrow."

"It's time for the bus, Bella," said the teacher. "Don't worry. It'll all work out alright. We're going to get to the bottom of this."

The teacher did not notice how the girl's face blanched, or how her hands began to shake.

"I'll see you tomorrow, sweet girl," said Rose. "I promise. We'll make more sandcastles and dragons at recess. You'll see."

The deep, solemn eyes peering back at her belied nothing.

"Come on, Rose," said Emmett. "It's time to go."

"Goodbye, honey."

"Goodbye, Miss Hale."

Rose could not bear to look at that sad little face for a moment longer. Grabbing Emmett by the hand—perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary—she marched him through the school corridors until they reached the Jeep—her husband's pride and joy.

"What was that in there?" she demanded, her voice a snarl.

"Alice saw..." began Emmett lowly, shaking his head when he trailed off. "Not here, Rose. Let's not cause a scene."

"If you expect me to let that child…"

"You're not letting her do anything," he hissed. "Get in the car."

Rose said nothing more until they were well on their way home, the stony silence almost palpable.

"I will not sit idly by and watch a child like that be mistreated," she said suddenly, her voice full of rage. "No matter what Alice _sees."_

"She saw you tearing up the guy's house," snapped Emmett. "You would've been arrested, and we would have had to move…"

"So what?" she shouted. "You didn't see that girl, Emmett… something isn't right."

"No," he agreed. "No, it's not…"

"Then _why_," she boomed, "would you stop me? We disappear all the time… it would be nothing to let it happen again."

Emmett sighed. It was so rare that he grew frustrated with her that she was slightly taken aback when he wrenched the steering wheel to the side, coming to a screaming, dusty halt on the side of the road.

"Listen," he growled. "I'm not supposed to tell you, but something tells me it's the only way to keep you calm until everything falls into place."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about," he growled, "the fact that Alice saw something."

"What?"

"She saw us."

Rose stared.

"With _her."_

"What do you mean, '_with her'_?"

"I mean what I said," replied Emmett. "She saw us. The whole family. With _her_, that little girl."

Rosalie stared.

"But…"

"But," continued Emmett, "if you had gone into that man's house with guns blazing, you would have been arrested. Now, that's no big deal, but after we got you out, we would have had to run. And according to Alice, that would have screwed everything up."

"I don't _care…"_

"_Listen_ to me!" said Emmett. "You're not _listening_, Rose…"

Rosalie bit her tongue.

"I'm supposed to keep you out of trouble until the authorities get involved. I don't know why it's so critical, but I trust Alice. And she says it is. Alice doesn't know why the girl was like she was today—she doesn't know what happened to set her off like that— but she's pretty sure its enough for the police to get involved now that the teacher's called Child Services. Once they find the bruises…"

"What bruises?" she hissed, feeling her mouth go dry. "I didn't see one mark on her at _all…"_

"I don't know, babe," sighed Emmett, his hands raised in surrender. "You'll have to ask Alice. Or Edward, maybe, since he would have seen… but Alice says it's important."

_"Alice,"_ scowled Rosalie. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"Babe..." Emmett's tone was warning. "Be nice to her. She's trying to help you..."

"Whatever," sighed Rose. "Just drive me home. I need to talk to Carlisle."


	6. Chapter 6

When Emmett pulled into the driveway of the large, three-story building that their family called home, Rosalie did not wait for the Jeep to stop before she leapt from the vehicle. She heard her husband's laughter chasing after her—he always found humor in her impatience—but she paid him no mind as she drifted into the house. She knew immediately that Alice had warned them of her temper—the entire family, including her brooding older brother, were gathered in the main room of the house, each waiting with almost forced indifference.

"Sit, Rosalie," said Carlisle, gesturing to the armchair behind her. "We need to talk."

"What did you see?" demanded Rose, facing Alice. Alice, the youngest of the family, watched her sister with careful, black-rimmed eyes that were narrowed in caution.

"Sit down before you break something," she advised. "Trust me. If you put your fist through that new television like you plan on doing, Emmett won't be very happy with you."

"Damn right I won't," he said. "Sit down, woman. You're getting all antsy."

"There's a child out there living with a _monster_, and you_…"_

"We don't know what she's living with," said Carlisle gently. "We know what we _suspect_, but…"

"You're telling me you're willing to let a child suffer on the _chance_ that we're wrong?" demanded Rose. "What the hell has gotten into your head?"

"I have, and would never, say such a thing," said Carlisle, more sharply than Rose had anticipated. "Sit down."

Rosalie, knowing the boundaries had been pushed, obeyed her father, though her mutinous, ochre glare spoke volumes.

"Alice? Would you please explain?"

"I saw the girl, Rosalie," said Alice quickly. "I saw her _here_, with _us…"_

"Yes, I've been told," said Rose. "What else?"

"She wasn't…"

"Wasn't what?" Her panic spiked—was she hurt? _Dead?_

The wave of calm from her brother, who had yet to say a word, made Rosalie relax into the back of her chair, grimacing.

"She's not… little," said Alice. "She's older."

"Older?"

"Yes," said Alice. "Not a child…"

"How do you know it's even her?" asked Rosalie. "There are plenty of girls named Isabella, and any number of them…"

"Yes, but how many of them would grow up with our family?" demanded Alice. "I didn't see much. But she calls Esme _mom."_

Rosalie didn't dare let anyone see how much that hurt her.

"I just met the girl yesterday," growled Rose. There's no way you've been seeing her…"

"_You _just met her," agreed Alice, "but _I_ didn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," said Alice, her impatience finally showing, "that I've been seeing this girl for a long time."

"How long?"

"Years," said Alice. "Maybe even decades…"

"She's six years old," said Jasper suddenly. "You don't see things that far in advance. How could you see her if she hadn't even been born?"

"I don't know," shrugged Alice, "but this time, I did."

"Why didn't you say anything?" demanded Rose. "Why…"

"Because there was never any concrete _anything_!" Alice was exasperated. "I saw a child, and a girl, and then a woman… but nothing to tell me who she was or why she was here."

Rosalie stared.

"Are you suggesting," Esme chimed in, her voice soft though the room was tense, "that we are going to take this child?"

"Yes," said Alice. "That's what I see."

The room bristled—the careful crease that puckered her father's brow, the anxious frown on Jasper's face, and Edward's stormy, snarling countenance, made Rosalie hesitate.

She did not dare believe what she was hearing.

"Is that why you were so insistent?" asked Emmett finally, his eyes fixed on Alice. "No one could figure out why you were so adamant about _Forks,_ of all places…"

"I… I don't know," said Alice, her voice unhappy. "I…"

"Did you see her here?" demanded Rose. "Did you know what she would be like?"

"No," said Alice. "No, I never knew…"

"But?"

"But it felt the same," she said finally, raising her eyes to stare at her husband. "I got the same feeling about Forks as I did about that diner nearly fifty years ago…"

Jasper seemed to deflate. His apprehension was almost palpable—what Alice was suggesting, what she seemed to be _pleading_ for, was unthinkable to him. Even Rosalie knew it, though she wished it wasn't so—Jasper had such tenuous control, such difficulty staying on the path Carlisle had set out for them, that she knew it would be a great risk bringing a little child into their home.

"You won't hurt her," said Alice finally, taking Jasper's hand. "I would never risk that for either of you."

"You can't know that," said Jasper gently. "Things like that can't always be thought through…"

"We won't _let_ you hurt her," amended Alice. "Not ever. Do you think anyone here would risk a child?"

"But the fact remains." Edward's voice was stoic, but not one of them missed the vicious, angry grimace on his face. "If we do what you're suggesting—which is _ludicrous_—there is a chance, no matter how small, that this child will be hurt."

"No one is going to—"

"But we _could_," interrupted Edward, talking over Alice. "I know you mean well—I've seen your visions myself—but there is no way to guarantee her safety."

"We need to take a step back," sighed Carlisle, cutting across before Alice could bite back. "We don't even know she'll be removed from her home."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Carlisle," said Alice. "I've _seen_ it."

"It is a marvelous gift you have, darling, but even you know that things can get mixed up," he said. "Rosalie saw no marks on the girl, and other than some odd behaviour and a suspicious teacher, there is no reason for us to intervene."

"Something isn't right," said Rosalie quickly. She knew Carlisle would not stand for it—if they discovered that this girl was being mistreated she knew her father would relent. Carlisle was a soft man at heart—he hated watching anything suffer, but he absolutely abhorred it in children. And now that he knew that this particular girl's suffering might be at the hands of her own father…

As a father himself, Carlisle would be the first one breaching the privacy of the little girl's home should any one of them get even a whiff of confirmation.

"We must be patient," said Carlisle. "If what Alice says is true…"

"Carlisle, you cannot be serious," snapped Edward, his black eyes fixed on their father. "You can't possibly mean to indulge this…"

"Of course," conceded Carlisle, "it's up to the family. We would have to vote on it…"

"Absolutely _not_."

"Yes."

Rosalie and Edward had spoken at the same time. An amused smile quivered at the edge of Carlisle's lips, though he did not let it show, simply nodding in acknowledgement of each decision.

"Alice?"

"Absolutely," she said. "I've seen it, Edward. She'll make us whole."

"We are already _whole_," he sneered. "What more do you want? We've got everything money can buy, a family, a beautiful home…"

"A child will do us all good," said Rosalie. She had to fight to keep the ire out of her voice. "You haven't seen her, Edward. She…"

"She would be just fine with some other family," said Edward. "Preferably one that won't kill her when she scrapes her knee."

"How _dare _you—"

"That's enough, both of you," said Carlisle. "You've cast your vote. Unless you want to change your mind, let everyone else speak."

Rosalie did not take her eyes away from her brother's taciturn face.

"Emmett?"

"I…" His eyes flickered to Rose. "I want to say yes, but part of me thinks Edward is right."

_No,_ thought Rose. She had been sure he would be on her side…

"Exactly," said Edward. "I have nothing against this girl, but the idea of her living _here_, with monsters like us…"

"That's enough," said Esme, resting her hand on Edward's knee. "Let your brother speak."

Edward fell silent.

"She's a cute little thing," said Emmett quickly. "I saw her today with Rose…"

Rosalie bit her lip.

"I'm going to say… maybe."

"Maybe?" asked Rose. "What does that even mean, _maybe_?"

"Babe, if we're a danger to her, then it's not right," he said. "We don't know how we'd do with a kid in the house, and…"

"Oh for god's sake," snapped Rosalie. "We're all grown adults. We all know what it's like to be near humans…"

"Exactly," said Emmett. "And some of us," his eyes flickered to Jasper, "find it harder than others."

"I vote yes," said Jasper quickly, catching Emmett's gaze with a careful frown. "I trust my wife—if she says it's what's best, then I agree."

Emmett, eyebrows raised, rested his head against the wall. Almost deflating, he gave a careful shrug, and Rose knew from Edward's frustrated groan that he had changed his mind.

"If it's fine by you, Jas, then it's fine by me," he said. "I just don't want you to suffer."

"I won't," said Jasper. "I've never harmed a child. Not even when I was in the south."

"Very well," said Carlisle. "One vote no, four votes yes."

Edward, knowing he had lost, shook his head and leapt from his seat. He was up the stairs and out of sight so fast that not even Rosalie caught the movement. When the music started up—loud and angry—their mother gave a sad little sigh, but smiled up at Rosalie as she nodded.

"I vote yes," she said. "You and I both know that there's nothing more precious in this world than the feeling of motherhood…"

Rosalie bit her tongue—she knew the reasonable course of action was to let the girl call Esme _mother_ (Rose was supposed to be in high school, after all), but she could not deny that the feeling hurt.

"_Mother_ is just a word, Rose," said Alice gently, almost as if she knew. "Esme will have the title, but you'll have a very special part of her all to yourself…"

"That settles it, then," said Carlisle. His elbows were resting on his knees. "If and when that child comes our way, she will be welcomed into our home."

"Thank you," said Rosalie, unable to help her smile. "Thank you so much…"

"_If_," repeated Carlisle, "something is found that would warrant it."

"Something isn't right," insisted Rosalie. "I'm sure of it. Something is _not_ right…"

"Well, my girl, I really hope you're wrong," sighed Carlisle. "I really, really do."

* * *

"Alice?" Rosalie was standing, albeit a little awkwardly, halfway between the door and bed in the room her sister shared with Jasper. She knew Alice could hear her—there was no way to avoid it—but she hadn't turned around when Rose had crossed the threshold.

"Come in, Rose," she sighed. "Shut the door." That was just as useless as Alice's feigned ignorance—there were not enough doors in the whole house to stop their family from hearing. Rose supposed, however, that they had all come to accept the symbolism of it—a closed door was a request for privacy, and while she suspected that Edward, in his foul mood, would not heed it, the rest of them would try not to eavesdrop.

Rose sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Alice's black, feathery hair. She was seated at the desk, a stack of sketch paper strewn before her, and turned slowly when Rosalie held her silence, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, what is it?" she asked.

"Emmett mentioned something on our way home from the school," she said slowly. "Something he said you mentioned."

Alice grimaced. Rose suspected that she knew what would be asked, but she did not offer anything until Rose spoke again.

"He said you saw bruises."

"Yes," said Alice. "I did."

"When?"

"When did I see them?"

"Yes," said Rose. "How long ago?"

"Just last night," said Alice. "After you came home and mentioned her."

"I didn't see anything on her at all," said Rose quietly. "I spent the entire day with her—not once did I see any physical sign of abuse. Something is amiss, that much is certain, but…"

"No, you wouldn't have," sighed Alice. Raising herself carefully form her chair, she perched lithely on the bed next to Rose. "They're not exactly accessible…"

"What does that mean?"

"I saw them on her back and on her…"

Rose frowned.

"On her what?"

"On her butt," said Alice, grimacing when the word crossed her lips. Rosalie snarled, the sound vibrating angrily through her chest, but Alice simply sighed, shaking her head.

"I'm almost positive that's why she wouldn't sit in her chair today," she whispered. Rose stood up. "From the look of it, it had to hurt…"

"How did you see that?" she demanded. "Who was she with?"

"I don't know," admitted Alice. "It was dark, but the bruise was clear..."

"How do you know it's current?" urged Rosalie. "How do you now that's not some distant _what-if_ or _maybe?_ Maybe it hasn't even happened…"

"I don't," admitted Alice. "Not really, but…"

"But what?" Rose's voice was spitting.

"But she had that turtleneck on," said Alice. "The blue one she wore today."

"I didn't say a word about the turtleneck," snarled Rose. "How did you…?"

"Emmett," she said quickly. "Please stop snapping at me. I'm not the enemy here…"

Rose sat back down, taking a deep, careful breath to calm herself. Alice was right—she was only trying to help, and Rose was not doing her any favours by growing angry.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I just can't stand this waiting…"

"It's for the best," said Alice gently. "I can't imagine she's very happy at home, not if what I've seen is true, but it will be exponentially worse if we act rashly."

"How so?"

"I saw the police taking you away," said Alice. "That's no big deal—we could get you out in a heartbeat_—_but with a delinquent minor in his care, Carlisle would be refused by the social workers."

Rosalie bit her lip.

"If we don't take her, they'll send her off to Seattle to the nearest foster family. I can't see much of that, since those decisions are too far off, but I do know this—that poor baby will not have a happy life if she's shipped away."

"I'll behave myself," said Rose, her reluctant mind made up. "I won't do anything rash, but so help me god, if I see anyone lay so much as a _finger_ on her…"

"You wouldn't have to," said Alice quickly, shaking her head. "If anyone lays a finger on that child, Carlisle himself will go in and take care of it."

And Rosalie knew, with the same certainty that reminded her of Carlisle's love for _her_, that Alice was not wrong.


	7. Chapter 7

In the back of the classroom, stalking back and forth like a caged animal, Rosalie could not tame the rampant anxiety that was rushing through her. She was agitated—anyone with eyes could see that—but what was not as clearly evident was the fear roiling in her stomach. It was not a feeling she was used to—it had been quite some time since she'd had any reason to fear for another person—but as her eyes raked back and forth across the ducked little heads working at their desks, she could not help but return to the one empty seat.

Where had she gone?

When she had arrived that morning, her heart set on finding little Bella, she had been dismayed to find that the girl she'd held so close the day before was nowhere to be seen. In traipsed child after child—all laughing and bubbly as children ought to be—but nowhere among the throng was the smiling, dark-eyed face of the one Rosalie longed to see.

Janice Casey had noticed as well, and the nervous frown marring the teacher's face did not assuage Rose's worries.

"Rosalie?" The teacher was standing next to her. "Are you alright? You look angry."

"Where's Bella?"

"Her father called her in sick," said the teacher gently. "She's resting at home."

"What about your phone call?"

"I filed a report. A social worker from DCFS is coming by today."

"And then what?"

The teacher raised a quizzical brow.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I'm a teacher, so I have a duty to report, but it's not my business what happens afterwards. The only reason I know they've assigned a social worker is because she's coming to see me after class today."

Rosalie snarled.

"She should have _never_ gone home to him," she bit out in a low voice. She did not want to upset the other children.

"She had to go back," said the teacher. "Like I said. Anything less would have been kidnapping…"

"If he's hurting her, we just helped him do it," said Rose. "We sent that poor baby back to him _knowing_ that he would…"

"We don't know he's hurting her," whispered the teacher, "and now is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. You're welcome to meet with the social worker after class if it means that much to you, but we can't have this kind of talk in front of the other kids. I'll have parents on the line for the next week and a half, making complaints, if any of them go home telling stories."

Rosalie bit her tongue.

"I'd be glad to meet with the social worker," she grit out.

"Fine," said the teacher. "She'll be here at four."

"Great."

The teacher turned her back on Rose, who resumed her anxious pacing.

The entire night prior, though this obstinate teacher had no way of knowing it, Rosalie had prowled back and forth across her living room picture window, her eyes downcast and her mouth turned up in a menacing snarl. Her mind had been her own worst enemy—that was one of the biggest pitfalls of having an endless memory and such a vast array of experience from which to draw her imaginings. Poor Emmett had lounged on the sofa, his kind, worried eyes fixed on her, as she ruminated on all sorts of dilemmas and tragedies that might befall that sweet little girl before the human authorities had the chance to intervene. She had shared only a few with him—what if she was crying? What if her monster of a father hit her hard enough to inflict permanent damage?—but even so, the scenarios that had played out in her psyche were enough to drive anyone mad.

She saw a faceless, nameless brute of a man looming over that tiny girl, his fist coming down on her. She saw the child screaming, heard her crying out for someone, _anyone,_ to help…

She saw her lifeless body, almost drained of blood, lying motionless on a cold, dark floor.

Twice, Emmett had sprung up from his silent vigil on the sofa to take his wife by the hand and coax her gently back to reason, as twice she had made a dash for the door, hell-bound on breaking her way into Isabella Swan's house.

"_You need to rest," _he had said. _"Seriously, babe, sit down and relax. Don't do anything crazy."_

It had taken every ounce of self-control to obey—she was usually not so impulsive. It had been years, _decades_ even, since she had felt this kind of uncontrollable lust for action. The last time she had given in to it she had been dressed in a vintage wedding gown, her red eyes gleaming out from her white face…

The feelings she was having were bringing her back to a time she was all too eager to forget.

It was after that second time, when she'd nearly ignored her husband's sage advice, that Jasper had glided silently down the stairs to rest against the far wall, his calming influence and dark, obsidian eyes locked carefully on her.

Her nighttime unrest had even garnered the attention of her father, who had implored her to stay home the next day to collect herself.

Rosalie had not obeyed.

"Now!" The teacher's sudden exclamation made Rosalie start. "Let's put our crayons away, boys and girls, and get ready to find our spots on the rug!"

Twenty-three little heads, all popping up happily from their worksheets, made their way towards the front of the room. And Rosalie, unable to control the ire on her face, fixed her gaze on the wide, empty gap in the front row.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Miss Casey. I'm Shirelle Williams from the Department of Children and Family Services."

"Come in, come in…" Rosalie could hear the voices out in the hallway. She knew she would seem strange to this newcomer—she had forced herself to lurk in the shadows at the back of the room for the entirety of the day, and she was now gripping the counter so hard that she thought it might crack. She wanted this stranger, this _Shirelle Williams,_ to quicken her pace, to stop the asinine small talk that humans always deemed so critically important…

"Rosalie is just inside," said Miss Casey. "She wanted to sit in as well."

"I spoke with a different child last night," said the newcomer, poking her dark, perplexed face through the door. "You told me the child's name is Isabella..."

"No, no, you had it right the first time," said Miss Casey, ushering the woman inside. "Rosalie is from the high school. She's job shadowing for a few weeks."

"Good to meet you, Rosalie," said the woman, and Rose carefully pried her fingers away from the counter. "Have you had much contact with the child we're discussing?"

"Some," said Rose, taking the woman's outstretched hand.

"We're here about Bella," said Miss Casey. "We're not sure exactly what's going on…"

"Something isn't right, that's what's going on," interrupted Rosalie. "That poor girl…"

"Bella?" asked Shirelle, taking a seat at one of the small desks. Miss Casey and Rosalie followed her example. "I was told her legal name is Isabella."

"I pulled her student record from the office," said Miss Casey, grabbing a folder Rosalie hadn't noticed from the desk behind her. "Her legal name is Isabella Marie Swan, though I've always known her as Bella.

Rosalie bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself silent. She knew this was necessary—that the woman would need all the basics before any investigation could move forward—but she did not like the delay. She had not missed the words the social worker had spoken—Rosalie was _'not the child she had spoken to last night'..._ did that mean she had already spoken to Bella? Had she _seen _her? Was the girl safe?

She did not want this woman sitting in an empty classroom, drilling a teacher about information that she likely already had on file. She wanted this woman at Bella's door, demanding to know the truth, and ensuring that she was safe and unharmed. She wanted her to call the police, to bring a sheriff or deputy to file a report of abuse, and to coax the girl into letting her see the extent of her injuries...

More than anything, Rose wanted the child back in her arms, where she would always be safe, and she would undoubtedly be loved.

"Date of birth?"

"September 13, 2010," said the teacher. "She just turned six last month."

Rosalie held her breath.

"And what caused you to call me in?" asked Shirelle. "As you know, we take limited details over the phone, and I'd love to corroborate your story with what we found at the house last night..."

Rosalie clenched, her fist gripping the table leg so tightly that she felt it start to bend.

She promptly let it go.

"I suspect that she might be mistreated at home," said the teacher. "As an educator, I'm trained to see the signs…"

"What signs has she exhibited?"

"She's timid," said Rosalie, cutting the teacher off. She had a degree in child psychology—one of the many credentials she had earned over the years—and she could no longer stand to listen. "Quiet, evasive…"

"Any physical signs?"

"She's got a split lip, as I told you over the phone," said the teacher quickly, her eyes flickering to Rose. "She couldn't give me a good answer as to where she got it. Said she hurt it while playing."

"And what makes you think she didn't?"

"I can't be _sure_ that she didn't," admitted the teacher, "but the circumstances do seem strange. It looked like she sunk her tooth into it pretty deep… deeper than I'd expect from a little rough and tumble."

Rosalie nodded her agreement.

"And she's got a sore spot on her back," said Rose. "Yesterday, when she wasn't feeling well, I noticed it, but she wouldn't let us look."

The woman, listening as they spoke scribbled furiously on a clipboard.

"Anything else?"

"Yesterday was strange," said the teacher gently. "Bella has always been a quiet girl, but yesterday I found her after the bell rang, asleep on the ground."

"Asleep?"

"Yes," said the teacher. "Her father had called to warn us that she wasn't feeling well, but we've seen Bella sick before. This wasn't sick."

"What was wrong, then?" Shirelle glanced between the two of them. "Did she say?"

"No," said the teacher. "She didn't. We tried to ask her, felt for a fever… but she wouldn't speak. She hardly said a word all day."

The social worker tapped her pen.

"She wouldn't leave my side," said Rosalie bluntly. "We tried to set her down at the back of the room so she could still hear the lessons, but she wouldn't let me put her down. She slept most of the morning, though she still claimed she wasn't sick, and wouldn't let me go until we forced her."

"Forced her?"

"Her bus was here," Miss Casey hastened to explain. "We got her to let go of Rosalie and get on her bus."

"And what about today?" asked Shirelle. "Was she better?"

"She was absent," admitted Miss Casey.

"Any calls from her father?"

"He says she's not feeling well again," said Miss Casey, though her frown made her hedge. "He sounded…"

Rosalie wheeled around. She knew her stare was making the teacher nervous—the woman nearly cowered when Rose turned to face her—but still, she spoke.

"Unwell," she finished carefully. "He sounded off."

"In what way?" The social worker did not look surprised.

"He sounded… almost _drunk,"_ admitted Miss Casey, shaking her head. "That really got me worried, since Bella is supposed to be home with him, but…"

The social worker made another note.

"Thank you," she said. "Both of you. I'll take my notes back with me and figure out an action plan. You've both done the right thing."

"Will you go and do a home check?" asked Rose, standing when the teacher did. "At least do a welfare check…"

"I can't divulge that information," said Shirelle quickly, "but we don't take these kinds of calls lightly."

Rosalie stared.

"Are you going to have someone check on her?"

"I can't…"

"It's a simple question," snapped Rose. "You're not breaching confidentiality. I just want to know if you're going to have someone make sure she's okay, or if we get to sit and worry for another sleepless night."

The woman's eyes softened—Rosalie knew they would—and she let out a deep sigh.

"We always send someone to check as soon as we get a call," she said. "Rest assured that we are doing our part to make sure that little girl is safe and healthy. I saw her myself last night, and if I had any immediate concerns they would have been addressed."

"Yeah, well just make sure you doing your part is enough," she returned. "Because if it's not, then that little girl is going to suffer."

The woman stared. The teacher, already red in the face, cleared her throat.

"Rosalie has grown close to Bella," she explained. "It's remarkable, really… none of the other kids have taken to her, and neither have they bonded with Bella. It's almost fitting…"

Shirelle began to pack her bag.

"Yes, well," she said. "Rest assured, Rosalie, that if anything is amiss, it will be handled. Thank you both for calling. If there are any more developments or if you remember something you think I should know, please feel free to call."

She plopped two business cards on the table. Rosalie stuck one in the back pocket of her jeans.

"Thank you," said Rosalie. "That little girl deserves better than whatever she's got going on at home."

"We'll sort that out," said Shirelle quickly. "Thank you, Miss Casey. Have a good evening, Rosalie."

Rose said nothing as the woman shook hands with the teacher again, collecting her briefcase and clipboard before she walked smartly out of the room.

The silence in her wake was almost deafening.

"I hope that soothes your nerves," said Miss Casey gently, breaking the silence once the sound of the woman's clicking heels had retreated out of earshot. "I know you're worried for her, but the officials are going to do everything they can."

Had she been human, Rose was certain her face would have been red with rage.

"I'll trust the officials when I see results," she said. "You forget, Miss Casey, where my family comes from."

This, of course, was not strictly true—Rosalie's family certainly wasn't traditional, but none of them were true foster children in the usual sense of the word. The teacher grimaced nonetheless, having been fed the falsified story of their patchwork family through small-town gossip.

"Of course," she said. "I didn't mean…"

Rosalie cocked an eyebrow.

"I know this kind of thing must be very difficult for you," she finished awkwardly. "With your family situation, and all…"

"We're all quite well," said Rose, "but none of us like it when bureaucracy interferes with child welfare."

"It is a frustrating system…"

"Yes, it is." Rose's voice was simple and matter-of-fact. No one in her family—especially not Carlisle—could condone the rigmarole that was so commonplace in cases of child safety and welfare. She knew her father would never admit it—he was supposed to be a law-abiding, respectable doctor after all—but she knew that he had fudged more than a few records to get the right people involved when he had his own suspicions about certain patients.

She wondered if he would do the same this time, if he would step in and use the great power he so rarely exercised. According to Alice, this child was to be his daughter, after all…

"Well…" Miss Casey was awkward. "I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose. And hopefully our little friend will be back with us

"Yes," said Rose. "Goodbye, Miss Casey."

The tingle that ran down Rose's spine as she said these words made her pause, but only for a moment. She could not have known then that those would be the last words the first grade teacher would ever hear from her.


	8. Chapter 8

"I can't do it again," said Rosalie, her face downcast. "I mean it, Carlisle. I won't stand for it."

"I know, darling, but what more would you have us do? The social worker is already involved, and now it's only a matter of time…"

"Yes. I've _seen_ it, Rose."

Rosalie turned, her face pinched, to stare at her sister. Alice had always been the baby of the family—both in size and in age. In this human charade they were so eager to keep up, it was always Alice who played the little one—always the little freshman to their junior, or the teenager to their young adult. Rose knew, in her rational mind, that Alice was _not_ a child, and she was certainly not stupid or naïve. Her sister was rarely wrong—her gift of foresight had rarely failed them before—but when it came to the little girl that had captured all of Rose's attention, she was skeptical.

"Look for her," begged Rose, biting her lip as she stared at Alice. "I know you've tried already, but please, try again."

With a sigh, Alice closed her eyes.

"You know she can't do it on command, Rose," said Jasper gently, his hand running down Alice's arm. Her little face was scrunched up in concentration—it was the same look that sometimes predicted one of her strange headaches—and Rose had the decency to feel a little guilty.

"She's seen her before," she muttered. "She said so herself. She's been seeing the girl for years…"

"Not on command," said Jasper again. Alice shook her head, eyes still clenched tight. "She always has a hard time with humans… they're so fickle."

Carlisle cleared his throat.

"Don't strain yourself, Alice," he said quietly, forcing her out of the vision. "There's no point. We have no reason to suspect…"

"If she can't see, how would we know?" asked Rose angrily. "Esme? You can't be okay with this."

"I'm not," said Esme fiercely, her arms crossed. She was standing a good three feet away from her husband—a rare occurrence under any circumstances—and her eyes were narrowed in disappointed suspicion. "I don't know _why_ your father is being so cavalier…"

"I'm not," sighed Carlisle. "I've said it more than once. I, of all people, understand what might be going on in that home, but I also understand the importance of _patience."_

"Patience be damned!" cried Rose. "How can we know she's safe if we can't see her?"

"We don't," admitted Carlisle. For the first time that evening, Rose noticed a little pucker between her father's brows. "We don't know, and it kills me to have to sit and wait, but…"

"But nothing," said Rose. "This is ridiculous. Emmett?"

"Yeah babe?"

"Come on," she said. "I'm going to see."

"Babe…"

"Let's go."

Emmett glanced at Carlisle.

"Go," he said, defeated. "But let me warn you, Rosalie… there are some mistakes that cannot be undone."

A shiver tore through her.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Come now." Carlisle was disappointed. "You know what I mean. You might pretend to be a child in public, but we all know you're not."

Rose glowered.

"If you do anything, and I mean _anything, _to jeopardize the privacy of that home, you might ruin our chance to help her."

"I won't," she growled. "I would never…"

"Sometimes your temper is your biggest weakness," said Carlisle gently. "I know you mean well, but you forget that the rest of us do too."

"I know you mean well," Rose was quick on the uptake, "but this time, I think you're _wrong."_

"And I might be," conceded Carlisle. "I have never claimed to have all the answers or to know everything of importance…"

Esme sighed.

"Let her go, Carlisle," she said. "She's a grown woman. You can't stop her."

"I'm not trying to!" For the first time, Carlisle sounded hurt. "Sometimes, I wonder what you must think of me…"

Esme softened almost at once, and not even Rose could resist a grin. Her parents, even when they disagreed, were so sweetly and sickeningly in love that it almost made her gag. Rosalie loved Emmett—she had never loved _anyone_ with the same fervour and joy as she did him—but not even their passion could match the intensity of Carlisle and Esme.

Neither of them could stay angry at the other for any length of time.

"You know what I think of you," she chastised gently. "You're a good man, a wonderful father, and an excellent husband. But this time, my darling, I think you're being too conservative."

"Better too conservative than too hasty."

Rosalie looked away. If she grit her teeth any harder, she thought they might crack.

"Tell that to that poor little girl," returned Esme. "You forget, Carlisle, how Rose and I know better…"

Rosalie flinched. Her mother, like Rose herself, was no stranger to violence or fear at the hands of someone who should be trusted. Both of them understood the confusion, the hurt, and the deep, burning betrayal…

"I'm sorry," murmured Carlisle, and from the corner of her eye, Rose saw him take her into his arms. "I am very sorry, my darling, but what Alice saw…"

"If Rosalie barges into that house," began Alice, her eyes fixed on the rug, "then we're lost. _She's_ lost…"

Rose slid her feet into her shoes. Emmett stood next to her, his arms crossed.

"I won't do anything untoward," she said. "I just want to watch."

"Please make sure that's all you do," begged Alice. "Please Rose, for Bella's sake… don't do anything rash."

"I won't."

"Esme would be devastated."

"I know." _So would she._

"And dad is only trying to do what's right. He wants to protect her too…"

"I know," said Rose again, though she was less convinced this time. Again, she knew that Carlisle—good, strong, loving Carlisle—would never stand for the abuse of any child. He would never allow a little girl to be struck, or belittled, or neglected while it lay in his power to stop it. He had never, and would never, uphold violence, and deep inside, even Rosalie knew that this was the truth.

But something inside her—something angry and volatile at the thought of this one particular child—made her irrational. It made her hate her father's careful hesitance, and made her hate Alice's foresight and warning caution. Rose knew her anger was displaced—she should be angry at the beast of a man she suspected of abusing his daughter. Her father was only trying to help—if the situation was not handled properly, then the child could never be welcomed into their home.

And as much as he might hide it, Rose knew that Carlisle had become just as invested in the idea of a new daughter as his wife.

"Don't let him see you," said Alice suddenly, her slack eyes narrowed on some future that Rose couldn't see. "That's all I can say. Do not let Charles Swan see you."

"I won't," said Emmett quietly. "If anything looks fishy, I'll get us both out of there."

"Yes," said Alice, blinking herself back into the present. "Yes, you will. Be safe, both of you."

Rose resisted the urge to scoff.

"We'll be back later," she said. "Come on Emmett."

Her father, silent and still, watched them with somber eyes as they dashed down the front steps and ran towards the tree line, taking off in the general direction of the town. The fresh air made Rosalie smile, though there was very little to make her happy. Emmett had her hand—she always liked to feel him close—but that hot, angry ache of anxiety that had settled in her chest was rocketing around and making her antsy.

"Relax," he murmured, slowing their pace just enough to hold her waist. "You're so tense, babe…"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't mean to be. I just can't sit around and wait…"

"I know," he said. "I really do. It makes me sick just thinking about it, but Carlisle's right."

"I know he is," sighed Rose. "He's always reasonable. And I know I'm not…"

"You're fine," said Emmett. "It's okay to have feelings."

"I know that, you big goof," she laughed. "I have plenty of feelings. I'm sure Jasper's glad for the break."

Emmett barked a laugh.

"We've gotta stay hidden," he said, letting the humor die out. "That's so important. No matter what we see, we've gotta stay hidden."

"We will."

"Even if we catch him?"

Rose hedged. What would she do if she caught Charles Swan mistreating her? What if she was crying? What if Rose, perched unseen outside a window, saw him strike her?

"Yes." The word was sound—her voice did not quaver—but even she did not entirely believe it.

"It's going to suck," he warned, his voice low as they approached the highway. "If we see something. But just remember—don't go rushing in there."

"I won't let him hurt her, Emmett" she murmured. "I can't."

"I know. And we won't, but promise me something." He stopped them abruptly, mud flying in an arc behind them as they skidded to a halt.

"What?"

"Promise me that _you_ won't do anything."

"What do you mean '_I'_ won't do anything?"

"I mean that we'll call the proper authorities. Make up something for 911 and let the police handle it."

Rose contemplated.

"Fine," she said. "But if I see so much as a _hair_ out of place…"

"You call," agreed Emmett. "Absolutely, babe. But we've gotta stay hidden. If we don't, then I won't get my new baby sister."

The way he said this—so warm, and gentle, and tender—made Rose's dead heart jump.

"Yeah," she smiled, taking his hand again. "Yeah, I promise."

The two took off again, slowing only when they reached the section of woods behind Bella's street. Rose was not sure exactly where the house was, but she had caught sight of the address on the student record the teacher had pulled out for the social worker. The street—Harper Avenue—was familiar; more than once Rose had found herself hunting far too close to the trails that ran through the back, and once, when they had been living further south, Jasper had almost killed a wayward hiker.

Breathing deeply, Rose searched for any sign of the girl's scent.

"Can you see any house numbers?" she asked, peering carefully through the wet pine needles. "I'm too short…"

Any attempt to climb, she knew, would cause too much racket for this quiet, sleepy suburb.

"One sixty two," whispered Emmett, craning his neck just far enough to see over the edge of the garage blocking her view. "What are you looking for?"

"One seventy three," she said. "It'll be on our side."

"How close are we getting?" he asked. "It's still daylight…"

The school day had ended only a few hours prior and while the sun had begun its descent, there was still a distinct blue glow in the sky.

"Not too close," said Rose. "I'll wait for dark to do that. But if we could just…"

The next breath she took in, Rose caught a whiff of the familiar, floral scent.

"Down here," she said, tracing it back. It was an old scent—she could smell rain and mouldy tree leaves over top of it—but when she came across a chain-link fence along the back of a run-down yard, she saw the little sneaker and sighed.

"This one," she said, pointing to the shoe. "She was wearing those at school on Tuesday."

"Great," said Emmett. "Think we can sneak around the side?"

"Later," she said. "Let it get dark. And make sure they don't have any lights…"

"Easy," said Emmett. "Spot me."

"No, wait…" The jolt of panic that soared through her chest made her cringe as Emmett, more nimbly than one might expect, leapt over the fence with inhuman speed and crouched against the back of the house.

Rose could hear a television on inside, and she saw the silhouette of a man as he crossed by the closed curtains.

"Emmett!" she hissed, glancing around for the neighbours.

Emmett, careful and stealthy, reached up as far as he could above the porch and loosened the light bulb inside, doing the same to the big floodlight on the side of the house before he vaulted the fence again, smirking.

"Easy as pie," he said, dodging the fist she shot out at his arm. "Now no one will see us."

"Idiot," snapped Rose. "What if he'd seen you?"

"Oh, terribly sorry, sir… I'm just looking for my dog."

"Jackass."

"Love you."

Rose grimaced, tolerating the wet kiss he planted on her cheek with unbridled disdain.

And so they waited, both in silent, careful contemplation, as the sky went dark and the streetlights flicked on.

"Now," said Rose quietly, watching the left-hand neighbor as he called his little dog back inside. "Once this guy's gone, I'm going to sit on the porch."

"Doesn't look like anything weird's going on," said Emmett. "I haven't even heard the kid…"

"We're too far," said Rose, shaking her head. "There are all kinds of walls, and with that television as loud as it is…

She was not wrong. The noise of football on the TV was drowning out everything else, and Rose was having trouble concentrating on any other sounds.

"True," said Emmett. And then, "Let's go."

As soon as they heard the dim _click_ of the neighbor's deadbolt, the two of them were up and over the fence in less than a second. Leaping lithely onto the creaky wooden porch, they both took a moment and stood absolutely still to stop the noise before they crouched down so they could not be seen through the window, and waited.

"That must be her father," breathed Rose, hearing the grunting and grumbling from the cracked window above them. "I've never actually seen him…"

"Smallish guy," said Emmett quickly. He was tall enough to peek through the gap as they crouched. "We can take him, babe… no problem."

"Stop kidding," she snapped, shaking her head. "I'm being serious. Does he look…?"

"Like an asshole?" finished Emmett, a smirk on his face. "No idea, babe. He doesn't look like_ not_ an asshole…"

"Move," she snapped, in no mood for jokes. "Let me see."

Peeking in through the window, Rose took careful stock of the small living room. She did not know where Bella was—asleep perhaps?—but there was no sign of her in the dark, clamorous room. A man sat in a recliner in the corner, his face illuminated by the glow of the flat-screen television mounted on the far wall. Emmett was right—he was a small man, no more than five and a half feet tall, with a scruffy beard and a beer belly. He was wearing an old white tank top—she could see the stains of sweat and food from where she sat— and though he wore only boxers in lieu of pants, his feet were inexplicably wrapped in old thermal socks.

"He looks… average," sighed Rose, slipping back down to face her husband.

"They always do," said Emmett, much more subdued. "Most guys like that—if this guy even _is_ like that—don't look the part."

"He _is_ like that," said Rose quietly. "Alice wouldn't have seen it otherwise…"

"Yeah," sighed Emmett. "But I hate to even think it. It blows me away that anyone, much less a _man_, could beat on his own kid…"

"Yeah. But they do," said Rose. "And this one isn't going to get away with it."

"No," said Emmett. "No, he's not."

Rose peeked inside again.

Because of the dark outside, and the bright, flashing lights from the television screen, Rose was sure that even if he had looked right at her, he would not have been able to see her. When he leaned forward his face came further into view, and Rose took careful stock of the stranger's features. With Bella's little face in her mind, she drew comparisons between the two—Rose had yet to see a mother (and there had been none mentioned by the social worker), but she saw this man in the little girl's face in bits and pieces. She had his dark, wide eyes, though her lashes were fuller and thicker than his. The curve of his chin was familiar as well, and so was the shape of his small, snub nose, though Rose could not be sure that the similarity in Bella was not simply a result of childlike roundness. When he frowned at the television, concentrating on the ball, Rose could almost see his daughter's own focused face, and the way she would stick out her tongue to work on a math problem.

_Where was Bella?_

"I'm going to find the girl," said Rosalie quietly, rising to her full height next to the window. "I don't see her in there."

"She's probably asleep," said Emmett. "Listen. You can hear something from the corner over there…"

Listening hard, Rose pressed an ear to the siding on the house. Immediately, resisting the urge to flinch back, she heard a torrent of sound. She could hear electrical wires buzzing, the muffled voice of the sportscaster, and the rhythmic _squeak, squeak_ of the rocking recliner. She could make out the hoarse, coughing breaths of the man, and the sickening slurp he made each time he brought a can of beer to his lips. There was the scratching of bird claws coming from the roof, and a peculiar _plopping_ sound that might have been a leaky tap, but underneath all that, from exactly where Emmett had described, was the sound of quick, sniffling breaths, and a rapid, steady heartbeat.

"She's definitely in there," he said quietly, murmuring in her ear. "By my reckoning, she's in the front over _there."_ He gestured towards the front of the house—the side nearest the street—right under the nearest streetlight.

"Damn it," she hissed. "He'll see us."

"Yeah," breathed Emmett. "But you can hear her. She's alright, I think…"

Listening again, Rose began to count.

"She's afraid," she concluded finally, her confidence deflating. "Her heartbeat is over one hundred. Ask anyone… something's either wrong, or she's anxious."

"She'll be out of there soon," he soothed.

"I can't _see_ anything," she grumbled, though she did not fight him when he tugged at her arm. "I just wish I could…"

"She's not crying," said Emmett gently. "We would hear if she was."

"Yeah."

"And he's not angry with her. A little tipsy, maybe, but he's leaving her alone."

"I know."

"Do you want to stick around, or do you want to go home?"

"I'm going to wait," she said. "I'll go back to the trees, but I can't leave her alone with him. Not until I know she's safe."

"Then I'm here too," he said easily. "Come on. Let's go find a comfy branch to perch on."

When they vaulted the fence again, not even the bird on the roof took note.


	9. Chapter 9

When she got home that night from school, Bella could not help the lag in her step as she approached the front steps. Her daddy's truck was home—she had been hoping it wouldn't be—and she could see his shadow through the curtains in the kitchen window. She wondered what he would do when she got in—she had been an awful, snivelling baby all day in class, and had refused to sit in her seat. She had napped in the cubby room, Miss Hale had read her books, and when Miss Casey had come in to ask her what was wrong, Bella had refused to answer. The teacher had thought she was sick—and Bella supposed that in a way, she was—but all the while she had heard her daddy's voice ringing through her head

_Don't tell stories._

Opening the front door was a Herculean task—her arms hurt, her back was sore, and her packsack was heavy on her shoulders. Plus, and perhaps even more importantly, she did not _want_ to open the door—she didn't want to go inside and see her daddy, who would be in his recliner, watching sports. She knew he would not make her dinner—he never did when the games were on—and if she made a noise he didn't like or if she lingered too long in the living room, he'd give her a smack and send her to bed.

When she slipped inside, she closed the door behind her as softly and quietly as a little mouse.

"Get in here."

His voice was loud.

Creeping, though she knew he had found her out already, Bella slipped out of her shoes and dropped her bag by the door. Her lip was in her mouth again—the swelling felt strange on her tongue—but she was careful not to draw blood this time. Her teacher had already asked her too many questions about it, and she could not afford any more…

"Come here," he said, turning away from the television once she reached the doorway. "Sit down on the couch."

Surprised, Bella tip-toed over and perched herself carefully atop a cushion, refusing to meet the dark, cold stare he had fixed on her.

"You want to tell me what happened today?"

Bella's heart sank.

"No," she said, shaking her head. She felt as if she might cry—had Miss Casey called and told him that she'd been bad? Had the principal suspended her, just like he had that nasty boy when he'd started the fist-fight in the schoolyard? She had tried to be a good girl. Really, she had…

"Your teacher called," he said, and Bella felt her heart in her throat. "She's worried about you, and thinks something's wrong."

Bella bit her fingernail.

"Did you say something to her?" he asked, and though his voice was light, Bella was sure he was angry.

"No."

"Did you show her your bruises?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't. Honest…"

"Then why," spat Charlie, "did she call me?"

Bella's face went red.

"I don't know," she lied, knowing very well that she'd behaved badly. "I was just tired, and I sat on the beanbag…"

"Come here."

"I am here."

"Don't you dare sass me," he barked, sitting up a little straighter. "You know what I mean. Get your ass over here, _now."_

Scrambling up, her face blotchy and eyes bright, she dragged herself over to stand before him. His breath was bad—Bella could tell he had not brushed his teeth—and the longer he snarled the more frightened she became.

"You're going to go up to bed and get some sleep," he said, his teeth gritted. Bella wondered why he had not hit her—she had been expecting him to, after all—but his hands remained clenched on the armrests.

"But…"

"For God's sake!" he snapped. "Do as you're told!"

Her eyes were bright again—she was afraid and sick and sad all at once—and she took a careful step back.

"And don't let me see you."

"What about dinner...?" She knew it was a long shot.

"Never mind," he said, ignoring the rumble of her tummy. She had not eaten lunch, and she was very hungry… "Go upstairs."

She did not need telling twice.

Locked in her bedroom, listening closely for any sign that her daddy might have changed his mind, Bella sat on the floor propped up against the door. She did not understand his strange mood—he had not spoken nicely to her, as he sometimes did when he felt sorry for her, but neither had he smacked her. She did not know why that was—what had she done to make him stop? Was he simply biding his time, waiting for Bella to do all kinds of bad and disobedient things so he could punish her with one _big_ smack—bigger than any of the others? Was it because her back still hurt, or because of the inky blue marks on her arms had not yet faded to purple?

Bella didn't know, but she wished he would have given her a snack before sending her away.

It was just after dark—Bella had watched the grey clouds fade to black outside—and just as she was contemplating sneaking down to the kitchen for a snack, that she heard the sudden and familiar jangle of the telephone.

No one ever called, and Bella was intrigued. The chink of light slipping under the bottom of her door gave her an idea, and knowing she wasn't supposed to be a sneaky, sleuthy girl who spied on her daddy's private business, she carefully laid herself down on the floor.

Ear pressed to the gap, she listened.

"_Yeah?"_ Her daddy had picked up. _"Yeah, this is Charles…"_

"_Oh, yeah, I remember… No. No, she didn't…"_

Bella held her breath. She could hear her daddy moving around the kitchen—he was obviously not on the cordless phone—and when his voice went low, shivers tore through her.

"_No, I had no idea. Most definitely. I'll talk to her… find out what's going on."_

"_Yes._

"_No."_

"_Thank you…"_

Silence.

"You little…" This threat, implicit and sudden, made Bella snap to attention, scrambling away from the door just in time to hear the thundering footsteps on the stairs. Frightened, her eyes wide, she crouched against the far wall, clamping her hands over her ears just in time to see her door fly open, the great silhouette of her father shadowed against the hall light.

"Get up," he snapped. "Get up!"

Bella scrambled to her feet.

"What have I told you?!" He reached down and held her by the shoulders. "Do you know who that was?"

"No…"

"It was that fucking Fergus, from your school. What have I told you about telling stories?"

"I didn't tell a story!" cried Bella, shaking her head. "Really, I promise… I didn't."

"Oh, that's rich…" He was laughing, though Bella knew he wasn't happy. "Do you know what they're going to do now?"

Bella stared, wondering when he'd hit. His grip was tight, though not painfully so, but he shook her roughly on almost every second word.

"You're hurting…"

"I'm hurting?" he barked. _"I'm_ hurting?! Just you wait, little girl… when those workers come in and take you away, they'll give you to a family who_ hurts."_

Bella's mouth went dry.

"I don't…" She was confused. "I didn't…"

"You've done it now," said Charlie. His face was very close to hers. "I've warned you a hundred times, you stupid little brat, but you never listen."

"I…"

"Good girls don't interrupt." He shook her hard. "You're lucky that bitch is coming here or I'd knock your goddamn teeth out."

The threat made her flinch, and she held her breath when his hands shifted down. His fingers, purposely clamping over the bruises on her arms, squeezed.

"Don't!" she squealed, trying to wiggle away. "Hurts!"

"Fuck you," he hissed, the words like venom in her ears. "I should've gotten rid of you when I had the chance…"

She began to cry then, and he threw her back.

"You disgust me," he spat. "Pick yourself off up the floor and get yourself together. If you're crying when that woman shows up, you're going to be in for it."

The hurt of his words had not yet died away, but the mystery made her hesitate.

"What woman?"

"The woman who's going to take you away," he said. "She's coming to take you, just like I said she would because you tell nasty stories about me at your school."

Bella shook her head, fear clouding her vision. She had not told stories. She had kept her mouth shut. She had told no one about the hitting, or the grabbing, or the shoving, and the yelling…

"I don't want to go to jail!" she cried. "I was good! I didn't do a bad thing…"

"Too late for that, little girl," he menaced. "Just hope that this lady doesn't take you right away. You'd do well to be on your best behaviour, or she'll take you away tonight and you'll go right to prison."

Bella, unable to help herself, broke down in tears once again, her confused little brain flooded with images and ideas. She saw bars and jumpsuits—maybe striped, like she saw on television. She saw a mean old guard, making sure she couldn't sneak away, and all kinds of other bad kids who had broken the law. Some of them would be mean to her—she was almost sure of it—and some might even hit her worse than her daddy did. Hitting, she knew, was bad, but her daddy hit and had never gone to jail—how hard did you have to hit to get put in there?

"Come downstairs!" bellowed Charlie. She hadn't even noticed him leaving. "They'll be here in a few minutes!"

Drying her face on her sleeve, Bella plodded carefully to the door, her mind racing. How could she undo this terrible mistake she had made? What would she say when this lady—Bella was not sure exactly who she was—came by and tried to snatch her? Would she run away? Would the lady leave her be?

"Get over here!" Charlie shouted. "Jesus Christ, girl…"

Bella rushed to the living room and saw her daddy with a garbage bag, tossing all his beer cans into it as he straightened up. She noticed the curtains had been closed—she could not see the driveway outside—but she could see her reflection in the black television screen.

Her hair was a mess—all tangled and frizzy—and her eyes were red and puffy.

"When she asks you why you're crying, say you're sick," said Charlie quietly, kneeling down behind her. To her surprise, he grabbed up the hair from the nape of her neck and tied it back in a messy ponytail—it felt like it would fall out, but before she could fix it he had lifted her onto the sofa.

Lying down with an old quilt covering her, Bella watched in utter confusion as he turned on the television, putting on Nickelodeon instead of the ballgame.

"What…?"

"Shut up," he hissed. "Watch the cartoons. And remember—you're sick."

"Okay."

"Good. Don't say anything about your arms, either."

"Am I going to jail?" she asked, her voice small. "I didn't mean to be bad…"

"Not if you play this right," he said. "Be a good girl for once and do as you're told, and everything will be fine."

"She won't take me?"

"Not if she thinks you're just sick," he said. "Now shut up and watch the show. I'm trying to think."

Bella, though she had many more questions, closed her mouth and bit her tongue. SpongeBob was on—she was almost never allowed to watch it—and she sure wasn't about to give up the chance.

The show had almost ended when she heard the knock on the door—a loud, firm sound that made her jump. Her father cursed—he was peeking through a gap he had made in the curtains and Bella could just make out an unfamiliar black car. Her stomach was leaping with butterflies—was this the woman he had threatened her with?—but as he went to open it, she pressed her face into the pillow.

"Remember… you're sick," he murmured, passing her to answer the door. "If she suspects anything…"

"_I'll go to jail,"_ she thought. Shivering, she kept her face hidden.

"Can I help you?" asked Charlie, his voice rough as he opened the door. Shaking, Bella waited, listening to the voice on the other side.

"Good evening, Mr. Swan. My name is Shirelle Williams. May I come in?"

"Who are you, exactly?" asked her father. "I have a child in here, and I don't let just anyone inside."

Bella bit the pillow to stop from crying.

"Shirelle Williams," said the woman again. "I'm from the Department of Children and Family Services. I'm here about a call we received about your daughter, Mr. Swan…"

Bella, unable to help it, felt herself lose control of her bladder as her father let the woman inside. Hidden under the blanket, no one could see it, but the wetness made her uncomfortable. This woman would take her away. She would send her to jail. She would have to leave her town, and her daddy would cry, and she would get a great big smack from some mean kid who had done bad things…

"I can't imagine what this is all about," said her father. He sounded serious. "Bell's just on the couch… she wasn't feeling too well. I think she's coming down with something…"

"That's unfortunate," said the stranger. "May I speak with her?"

"I'd really rather you didn't," said Charlie. "She's exhausted. Came home off the bus and barely said a word even to me. I think I made a mistake sending her in this morning… I should've kept her home to rest."

"I'll be brief," said the lady. "I'm only working on preliminary information as it is… we just received the call this afternoon, but it's always best for me to come straight to the source."

"What was said?" asked Charlie. "Bella and I have never had any problems before…"

"There have been accusations of abuse," said the lady. "Someone in the community expressed concern about your daughter's wellbeing."

"The teacher," sighed Charlie, shaking his head. "She's always disapproved of me. She thinks it's strange that I'm a single father raising a daughter… she said as much when I went for report card interviews last year."

"I can't tell you who made the call," said the lady. "That would be a breach of confidentiality."

"You don't have to," said Charlie. Bella felt the lady sit down at her feet. Her father's hand rested on her hair. "I know well enough who it was."

"Who it was isn't important," said the lady. "What is important is whoever it was is concerned with the wellbeing of your daughter. I'm sure you can appreciate that."

"Of course," said Charlie. He was patting her head now. "Of course I want my baby safe. But as you can see, she's fine…"

"Isabella?" The lady made Bella shiver. "My name is Shirelle. Can I speak with you for a little while?"

Her father's hand, still running gently through her hair, tightened slightly, and she lifted her head from the pillow. The wetness under her was still seeping into the couch—she was still so afraid—but she met the lady's eye with a wary, anxious gaze.

"Hello sweetheart," she said. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

Bella shrugged.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked. "Your daddy says you're sick."

"Yeah." Her voice was rough from crying.

"Were you sick at school?"

She shrugged.

"Dunno."

Charlie grimaced.

"She had a cold last week," he said, and Bella's face flushed at the lie. "I thought she was over it, but I guess not…"

"With all due respect, Mr. Swan, I need to hear from Isabella."

"Just don't feel good," she grumbled. "I was watching SpongeBob."

"Do you often watch SpongeBob?" asked the lady. Her teeth were very white. "I do."

"Sometimes."

The lady was holding a clipboard—something Bella had not noticed before—and she made a careful note.

"Someone mentioned to me that you had a little tumble," said the lady. "They thought your back might be sore."

Bella, glancing worriedly at her father, shook her head.

"No."

"You're not hurt?"

"No." She could feel the bruise throbbing as she spoke.

"Can you look at me, honey?"

Bella peeked up.

"I'm going to ask you a very important question, and I need you to tell me the truth."

"Okay."

"I'm going to ask your daddy to step into the kitchen—maybe he can make you some hot chocolate for later…"

"I'd rather not," interrupted Charlie. "She's my daughter, after all. And I really don't know you..."

"If you don't cooperate, Mr. Swan, I'll be back tomorrow with the Sheriff and we'll have a full-on interview at the police station."

Charlie froze.

"No need for that," he said quickly. "Bella, you be a good girl. Listen to Miss Williams and do as she says."

Bella stared. Her mouth was dry though her eyes were damp, and when he stepped carefully into the kitchen, she knew he would be listening.

"Now honey," began the lady, "has anyone ever touched you?"

"Yeah," Bella frowned. That seemed like a strange question…

"Has anyone ever hurt you?"

Bella shrugged.

"Sometimes."

The lady made another note.

"Does your daddy ever hurt you?"

The question, put so bluntly and suddenly, made Bella freeze, and she stared, wide-eyed, at this new lady.

"…no."

"No?"

She shook her head. She could see her daddy's face peeking around the corner, though she knew the lady couldn't—daddy was behind her.

He gave her a thumbs up.

"Okay, sweetheart," said the lady. "Thank you for answering. I'll leave you be for the rest of the night, but I'll see you again shortly. This is for you."

She handed Bella a small piece of cardboard—she could only make out some of the words written on it.

"That's my business card," she said gently. "See that number there?"

Bella nodded.

"If you ever need anything, or if you ever feel unsafe, you call that number and ask for me. Do you remember my name?"

"Miss Williams," she said, remembering the name her daddy had used.

"Good girl," smiled the lady. "Thank you for speaking with me. I'm glad you were so honest."

The guilt, sudden and cold, sank deep into her belly, and her face went red as the lady retreated.

She did not like lying—that was what bad girls did.

"I'll be in touch, Mr. Swan," said the lady. "Thank you for letting me in."

"Yeah," said Charlie. "Thanks for checking on her. But you can see she's fine…"

"We take these calls very seriously, Mr. Swan," said Miss Williams. "We'll be in touch."

"But she's fine…"

"And we're going to see that she continues to be," smiled the lady. "Have a good night. Don't forget to call if you need anything, Isabella."

Bella could only stare.

"And feel better."

When the lady left, Bella tucked the blanket more firmly under her chin.

"You see what your idiocy costs me?" asked Charlie. Bella had to strain to hear him—his voice was only a dull rumble over the buzzing of the black car's engine outside. "Do you see what your stupidity has done?"

"I'm not stupid," protested Bella. She hated when he said this—it made her feel silly.

"You _are_ stupid," he growled. "You're stupid, and useless, and a waste of goddamn space."

She curled up tighter under her quilt.

"Do you understand that I don't _like_ having to do this?" he asked finally, breaking a long silence. "You know that I don't _want_ to hit you?"

Bella frowned. When he turned to look at her his face was curiously blank—Bella felt her anxiety rising as she struggled to read him. Was he angry at her? Annoyed? Sad?

"But you make me do it," he laughed softly, shaking his head. "No matter what I do with you, you never learn. So I have to hit you. You understand that, don't you?"

Not knowing what to say, Bella nodded.

"I just want you to be a good girl," he said. "All any daddy wants is a good girl…"

"But you said you're _not_ my daddy…"

"Stop interrupting!"

She flinched.

"See what I mean?" he asked. When he reached the sofa, he hauled her upright. "You never listen. Why can't you just _listen?"_

"I do…" She clenched her eyes shut. Any minute now, he would be in her face...

He jerked her off the couch.

"You don't…" She had expected him to shout some more, and she cracked her eyes open when he trailed off.

Silence.

"What the _hell…"_

Bella was exhausted. Her brain, usually so attuned to his moods and temper, was so slow on the uptake that it took her almost thirty full seconds to realize what he was staring at. When he had yanked her off the couch, the old quilt had fallen to the floor. Bella's head had left her pillow behind, and though her pants felt wet and cold, she did not realize that he had seen the dark stain on the centre cushion until his hand shot out and he slapped her, hard, on her backside.

"You little pig!" he barked, his hand stinging her still-tender flesh. "You disgusting little pig!"

"Ouch!" she cried, scrambling to wrap her hands around her bum. "Stop it!"

"You pissed on my couch!" he roared. "Why the_ fuck_," his spittle hit her face, "would you piss on my couch!?"

"I'm sorry!" she cried, flushed with mortification and fear. "I didn't mean to!"

"You're done," he growled. His hand on her wrist was tight. "You're so goddamn done. Get in that closet. I've had it up to _here,"_ his hand swiped out a good foot above her head, "with you."

"No, daddy!" she wailed, the meaning of his words suddenly sharp and clear. All exhaustion had fled from her—how could she be tired with the looming threat of such terror flooding through her? She was so afraid of the dark, and the small space made her so anxious…

"Shut your mouth!" he bellowed. "This will teach you to piss on my things…"

"No!" She so rarely shouted at him. "No! Please!"

"Shut up."

"No!"

"You're done! You've pushed my buttons too many times today..."

"I'll be a good girl!" she wailed. His hand was on the closet knob. "I won't be bad!"

"Shut _up!"_

"Please!"

The door was open.

"No!" Her voice had risen to a shriek. In a sudden burst of speed, her free hand swiped out and the dirty nails on ends of her little fingers sunk into the flesh of his arm, scratching with all her strength. He grunted as she clawed hard enough to draw blood, her feet scrabbling desperately on the hard floor outside.

The dark of the closet felt like the maw of a great, rabid beast. If he got her in there—if he shut the door on her—it would surely devour her alive, and she would never come out again…

"No!"

"You little bitch…" The struggle, which her father had been trying so hard to avoid that night, came to a head when his temper snapped and he lashed out at her again, his hand colliding with the side of her head.

Once.

Twice.

"No!" she cried, unfazed. "Please, don't make me…"

"Get in there, you little beast!" he shouted. "That'll teach you you to claw me..."

Her heart was racing. Her hands were clammy, and her face had lost all its colour and redness. She kicked him, she struck him, she even sunk her little teeth into the hairy, fleshy forearm pushing against her chest, but no matter how she hurt him he would not relent. He hit her, and pushed her, and she was sure her bruises would be black come morning, and because he was so big, and she was so little, she could not stop him from shoving her, hard, into the furthest, darkest corner.

"No!" Her voice was hoarse. "No!"

"That's what you get," he said, reaching for the door. It only took a few seconds for him to get it closed—but to her, it felt like an age. She tried to scrabble back out—she could not stay here in the dark—but he was too quick.

"Get back!" he shouted, grabbing the little wrist blocking the door. "Move!"

"No," she pleaded, taking his fingers in her hand. "No, daddy, please…"

"Shut up!" he bellowed. "And move your arm, or I'll break it."

She did not believe him.

"Please," she gasped. Her face was sticky with tears. She could taste salt. She could see his eyes, so hard and cold, as they lingered on her face, before he put his weight behind the door and…

_CRACK!_

Bella did not make sense of the sound until she felt herself falling backwards, hitting the floor of the closet with a resounding _thud. _The door closed when she fell, though she did not notice it immediately as her vision had gone suddenly white. Gasping for air, she felt the sharp, shooting pain fly from her wrist all the way to her shoulder as the bolt lock slid into place outside the door, and her entire body began to shake. It was a long, deadly quiet moment before she was able to take in air, and the wail she let out was so loud that it hurt her own ears.

She had never felt such pain before in her life.

"Shut up!" shouted her father, his voice filtering in as she bawled. "I warned you!"

The room was suddenly dark. Even the feeble light seeping in under the door was blotted out. Her entire body hurt, and her arm was on fire…

She screamed until she lost her voice.


	10. Chapter 10

As morning dawned—a pale, struggling sun crawling up behind the clouds—Rosalie stood motionless on the edge of the tree line. Emmett was beside her—she could feel him, tense as bowstring, as the pair of them strained to listen to the goings on inside the little house.

"Babe, I don't think she's there…"

"Shh."

"Is this even the right house?" he asked. "Maybe he's got a dog…"

"It's the right one," she whispered. "That's her scent. I would know it anywhere."

Emmett's eyes were glued on the little pink sneaker—he had memorized its scent earlier in the night—but there was nothing in his mind to link it to the girl from the school. Rosalie knew better. She knew how the flowery scent of freesias and fragrant strawberries smelled on the girl's warm, soft skin…

"She's in there," said Rose confidently. "I just don't know _where…"_

"We should get going," he said. "We've got class."

"I'm not going _anywhere_ until I find out where Bella is."

Emmett took her hand, his lips pressed shut as they continued to stare. The neighbour to the left and his little dog were already outside—the dog was sniffing suspiciously in the corner nearest her, and it was all Rose could do to keep herself still. Animals did not like their kind—they could smell a predator from a mile away—and she had no desire to be caught lurking in the woods behind a stranger's home.

"There," said Emmett suddenly, his eyes narrowed.

It was still early morning—a little too early for most humans to be awake—but Emmett was right. Rose saw a light on the side of the house flick on—the kitchen, by the sound of clinking glass and the distinct sound of a running sink.

"He's up," said Rose. "That means Bella should be up soon too…"

Rose stood still as a statue. She listened, ears strained to hear, as the man started up a coffee pot, and the television turned on with the morning news. The window was still cracked, and the scent of fresh, bitter coffee wafted towards them on the morning breeze. The scent of man filtered out with it and the two of them could not help but grimace—Rose hated the smell of body odour.

"Wanna get a little closer?" whispered Emmett, jerking his head towards the jetty of trees that stuck out a little closer to the fence. "Maybe we can hear something."

Rose's phone, lying forgotten in her pocket, buzzed.

_Carlisle called you two in. Don't worry about class._

"Alice," she said, smiling. "We're officially playing hooky."

"Nice," said Emmett, taking her by the waist. "I always wanted to blow off class to hang with my girlfriend…"

"Stop it," she laughed. "I'm trying to listen…"

His hands on her sides tickled, and she ran quickly towards the better vantage point.

When he caught up to her, he was chuckling.

"Are we gonna hang here all day?" he asked. "Because if we've got the day to ourselves, I can think of something much more _interesting_ to do..."

"Stop it," she said again. "You know why I'm here."

"I don't think she's home, babe," he repeated. "I can't even hear that heartbeat from last night…"

"You could barely hear it pressed up against the wall," she protested. "Of course we wouldn't hear it from here."

"She's probably going to get ready for school."

"Hopefully," said Rose. "But if not…"

"What? We're just going to watch her?"

"Maybe," shrugged Rose. "I don't trust that father of hers, and I'm not about to leave her alone with him…"

"If this is even the right place."

"It's the right place," she scowled. "How many times do I have to tell you? I can't…"

"Shh," said Emmett. "Listen."

Rose was silent, craning her neck.

_"Hello, yes, this is Charles Swan."_

"Damn…" Emmett frowned. "This _is…"_

"Shush!" hissed Rose. "Be quiet!"

_"…sick again."_

"He's calling the school," said Rose. She was tense, ready to spring, as she listened to the man's words on the telephone—something about the way he spoke set her teeth on edge.

Emmett, sensing her distress, held tightly to her hand.

"Remember what Alice said…"

"Shush!"

_"…not feeling well. I'm going to keep her home another day."_

"Bastard…" Rose's voice was almost a growl. "She's not sick, and he knows it…"

"Where is the social worker?"

"Shh!"

"Woman…" Emmett sounded annoyed. "Stop that. You can hear just fine."

_"…absolutely. Thank you."_

The house fell silent.

"She _is_ in there, then," said Rose smugly. "I told you so."

"She's sick," said Emmett. "Are you going to sit here and watch her all day?"

"No," said Rose. "I'm going to sit here and watch _him _all day. He hit her hard enough to leave bruises. I'm not about to sit idle while he does it again…"

"Remember what Alice said," urged Emmett. "Nothing crazy."

"It's not crazy to…"

"Yes, it is," he said. "It absolutely is. You can't just barge in there…"

"If he hits her…"

"Rose!" She bit her lip. "Stop and _think_ before you get all riled up again."

"Sorry." Even to her, the word sounded insincere. "But…"

_Buzz._

Rosalie glanced down at her phone.

_Listen to Emmett. I don't see anything terrible._

"See?" said Emmett. "Alice agrees. Calm yourself down or you'll have to go home."

"You can't send me away like an errant child," dismissed Rose. "I'd like to see you try."

"No, I can't," admitted Emmett. "But you know as well as I that you will be devastated if something you do hurts that girl."

Rose's teeth sunk into her lip. Emmett was right.

"I hate this," she bit out. "I absolutely hate this waiting…"

"So do I," he said. "You think I like sitting _here_, knowing what goes on in _there?_ That kid is going to be my sister… I don't like _anyone_ hurting my family, but much less someone they're supposed to trust."

Hearing Emmett speak so fondly of the child he had yet to know made Rosalie smile, despite herself, and when he offered her his hand, she did not decline.

"I like that you're learning to care for her," said Rose gently. "At the vote, I wasn't so sure…"

"Neither was I," he laughed. "But you know me. I like kids well enough..."

"Yeah."

"Not that they like me back," he chuckled. "I'm a big, scary vampire, you know? But I know she means something to you, and how could I dislike anything that you love?"

"You're sweet."

"I'm serious," he said. "The idea's grown on me. This little kiddo is the closest thing to a daughter I can ever give you, and that in itself makes her worth it."

The strange hurt that Rose had always felt at the mention of her failed future—the one with a husband, children, and grandchildren in days long past—was curiously dulled at the sound of his words.

"I think I _do _love her," said Rose quietly, shaking her head to dispel the morning fog. "I don't know how that can be, but I can't help but think it…"

"Of course you love her," said Emmett easily. His lips were in her hair. "How could you not? She's the first child to ever show you any kind of love in return, and that's something really special."

"It is," agreed Rosalie, "but…"

"How would I know?" guessed Emmett. "You forget where I came from, babe."

Rosalie frowned. A part of her—a rather _large_ part, if she was being completely honest—felt the sting of guilt when she thought of the life she wrestled from him. She had found him, torn up and bleeding on the forest floor, and had rushed him to Carlisle, not even thinking about the family he would be forced to leave behind…

As the oldest of a large group of siblings, Emmett had been all too familiar with the love of little children.

"No, I don't," she sighed. "How could I ever forget?"

"Hey, now…" His face had grown sad. "You know as well as I do that I've never regretted this life you gave me."

"You lost so much," she sighed. "I know you love me, and you're glad to be here, but…"

"But nothing," he said. "I would have died that day if it weren't for you. Either way, my time with my family was up."

Her head rested on his shoulder.

"Well, thank you for giving her a chance," she said finally, her eyes flickering back to the house. She could hear the man upstairs, changing his clothes…

"It wasn't very hard, babe." She could see his dimples. "Even when I saw you holding her in that classroom, I knew…"

And suddenly, as the memory replayed with vivid accuracy in her mind, she longed to hold the girl again, to feel those gentle little arms squeezing her neck…

_Where was she?_

"We'll make her safe," said Emmett, as if in response to her yearning. "Whatever's going on right now, she _will_ be safe."

"I—"

"Shh!"

This time it was Emmett who cut her short, pressing a finger to her lips. Rose stopped, a frown on her face, as she listened for whatever it was her husband could hear, falling short when she heard nothing.

"What?" She was confused.

"I thought I heard…"

"What?" she asked again. She took a careful step closer to the house. She had not heard anything…

"There!" he said, pointing towards the living room window. "Did you hear it that time?"

"No…"

"Listen. Focus on that weird corner from last night… where the heartbeat was coming from."

Rose obeyed.

Over the sounds of the man upstairs, the rustle of the pine needles in the cool, morning wind, and the rumbling of cars on the road a few blocks down, Rose was hard-pressed to hear specifics. She wanted to rush back to the house, to press her ear to the wall as she had the night before, but trapped in the trees by daylight, it was all she could do to crane her neck closer.

_There_.

From the depths of the house, muffled and soft, came the sound of a quiet, timid whimper. Had she not been looking for it she doubted she would have heard it—it was as small and soft as a kitten's. The sound made the hair on her arms stand up—which was rare in itself—but the more she listened, the more she could match the little voice with the face in her mind.

That was Bella.

"Where is she?" growled Rose. "I swear to God…"

"Babe, _no,"_ barked Emmett, taking her by the arm. "You can't go in there…"

"She's _hurt," _said Rose. "You _heard_ her…"

"Just _watch,"_ he begged. "Please, babe…"

"She'll hate us," breathed Rose, tugging against his firm grip. "If she ever finds out we sat here and _watched_, she'll hate everything about us…"

"She'll forgive us," he said. "She's a good kid. She'll understand…"

"I wouldn't," she said, falling back against his chest. "So help me God, if I knew you had watched while Royce King…"

"This man is _not_ Royce King," boomed Emmett, a little louder than before. "You know that as well as I do. This man is a monster in a category all his own…"

"That doesn't make it better," spat Rose. "Let me go, Emmett. Enough is enough…"

_Buzz._

The text had only one word.

_Don't._

"See?" begged Emmett. "Look, Rose. Alice says no…"

"Fuck Alice," she growled. "Fuck the phone. Let me go."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Rose, stop!"

The sudden voice behind them made both of them start. In their struggle, neither had heard the approaching footsteps, light as rain on the forest floor. Their father had always been stealthy—he had learned silence during his early days, avoiding human contact. It was almost eerie how silent he was, how absolutely undetectable he could be when he wanted to avoid notice.

"Dad," sighed Emmett. "Why…?"

"Alice," he said simply, glancing carefully out at the house. "She saw you rushing in, Rosalie."

Rose bared her teeth. Carlisle was unfazed.

"So this is the house?" he asked, peering carefully through the small crack in the curtains. "Is that her father, there?"

Looking over, Rosalie saw the man from the night before—though now he was frowning, and dressed in jeans and flannel. She did not know exactly what the purpose of it was, but he seemed to be standing in front of a closed door near the front of the house. She could just see the door if she craned to the side—it was made of thick wood, and she caught the glint of a bolt lock on the outside.

The towel on the floor made her frown.

"That's him," she said, noting Carlisle's gentle hand on her shoulder. She knew he would restrain her if she tried to bolt. "Charles Swan."

"I know him," said Carlisle, his voice suddenly dark. "He works for the lumber mill just outside town. He's the one who drives the truck…"

Emmett scowled.

"The one who's always coming in with their injured?" asked Emmett, remembering the stories.

"Yes," said Carlisle. "I never imagined…"

"No one ever does." Rosalie was frustrated. "It's always the normal ones…"

"Yes," agreed Carlisle. "What is he doing?"

"Being a weirdo," said Emmett. "What's he keeping in there, do you think?"

"No idea…" Rose frowned. "But whatever it is, it can't be pleasant. He probably keeps it locked to keep his daughter out."

The three of them, necks craned, watched as Charles moved closer to the door. When he rattled the knob and a voice rang out, it took both Carlisle and Emmett to hold Rosalie back. The little voice was so small and plaintive...

_"Let me out!"_

"You have got to be kidding me!" Emmett was almost shouting. "That's fucked up…"

"Rosalie, _no,"_ said Carlisle, his voice stern. "You cannot rush in there…"

Her father's face, white as bone, was angrier than she'd ever seen it.

_"Shut your mouth,"_ barked Charles from inside the house. _"What have I told you?"_

_"Let me out!" _Rose could hear her fear—the heartbreaking, miserable sound of terror quavering in the child's voice. _"Daddy, please!"_

Carlisle was already on his phone.

"Yes, I'm calling to report an incidence of child abuse," said Carlisle. Rosalie, struck dumb with horror, watched as her father left the tree line and made a mad dash for the road. Emmett still held her fast, his eyes glued on their father, but his grip was beginning to slacken.

"Charles Swan, at one seventy three Harper Avenue. I'm walking by the house, and…"

Carlisle's voice grew fainter as he approached the front of the house.

"He's got her in a closet," said Carlisle. "She's crying."

Rosalie had had enough.

Breaking free from Emmett was easy when he was distracted, and as quickly as her father had, she followed him towards the road. Carlisle saw her and frowned—she knew he did not approve—but there was no admonishing _buzz_ in her pocket from Alice. Emmett followed suit, not one to be left alone after the other two had blown their cover, and stood with his hands clenched on Charles Swan's front fence.

_"Daddy, no!"_ The little voice made Rose's heart clench. _She had to go in…_

_Buzz._

_The police will be there in three minutes. Do not go inside._

Rose crushed her phone in her fist.

"My name is Doctor Cullen," she heard Carlisle say. "I'm a general surgeon at the hospital in town."

"_How old is the child?"_

"Six," said Carlisle. "Please hurry."

"Let me go!" said Rose angrily. "Emmett, please. You can hear her…"

"Three minutes babe," said Emmett. "I can hear the sirens myself…"

He was not wrong. About a mile in the distance, their loud, obnoxious wailing carrying on the wind, Rose could hear the approach of the officers.

"Rose, calm down," said Carlisle quickly, covering the speaker to hiss in her ear. "It's unbelievable, I know, but we will do more harm than good if we burst in."

"He's hurting her," said Rose frantically, pulling against Emmett to get nearer the house. "That's why her heart rate was up. He's hurting her…"

If Rosalie could cry, her face would have been slick with tears. She was angry. She was frustrated. She was so unbelievably sad, and the venom in her mouth made her want to bite…

The first cop car, speeding dangerously around the corner, came wailing into view, and Rose saw Charles Swan's head snap up.

"Fuck," he muttered, kicking the towel out of the doorway. "Damn it all to hell…"

He didn't even notice the trio of pale, angry faces outside the front of his house.

The bolt, thick and strong, slid loudly as he unlocked the door, scrabbling for the doorknob. The police officer had left his car, and was quickly making his way to the front door. Rose could see the curious faces of the neighbours poking out from windows, a few of the braver ones standing barefoot on their damp, dewy front lawns.

"What's going on?"

"Where's his kid?"

"Did someone get hurt?"

"Did someone break in?"

Just as the cop began to bang on the door—his fist rattling it in its frame—Charles Swan heaved the closet door open. Almost at once, the air was filled with the fragrant, sweet scent of blood.

Only Carlisle's eyes stayed their familiar honey-gold. Rose, even more frantic than before, felt her eyes turning black and her husband's chest began to rumble, but whether he was angry or tempted, she did not know.

"She's bleeding, Carlisle," she hissed, frantic as she gripped her father's arm. "There's _blood…"_

"I know," he said. "I'm going to go and offer my assistance."

And so he did. Envy filled her heart as she watched her father move up to the door, addressing the young deputy with a sharp strictness that Rose rarely heard. Carlisle procured his hospital ID—which Alice had had the foresight to press on him before he left—and was allowed to move past the struggling officer towards the closet.

It was only after the deputy had wrestled Charles Swan into handcuffs, cursing and spitting all the while, that Rose saw her father duck into the dark, bloody room.

"You two kids stay back," said the cop, forcing Charles into the back of his cruiser as two more cars rounded the corner. "Your father is looking at the girl, but that there is a crime scene."

Rosalie felt sick.

"Dad!" she shouted, leaning over the fence. "Where is she?"

"Do you know the girl?" asked the deputy quickly, locking the backseat of his car. Charles was staring at the floor.

"I volunteer at her school…" breathed Rose. "I spent some time with her…"

"It'll be good for her to see someone she knows," said the officer. "Was it you that called it in?"

"My dad did," said Emmett quickly. "Here he comes…"

Had her heart been beating, Rose had no doubt that it would have stopped right then and there. She had never seen Carlisle's face so angry—the white-lipped, snarling grimace he was directing at the man in handcuffs was so vitriolic that Rose wondered whether their mask of humanity would be broken. Even the officers looked taken aback—though nothing Carlisle was doing was an outright _threat—_and his angry, spiteful face was belied by the absolute gentleness exuded by the rest of him.

Held tightly in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, was the trembling little body of the child Rosalie had been so desperate to save.

"Bella!" she shouted, pulling free of Emmett's arms. "Bella!"

The little head snapped up. Her eyes, so wild, locked on Rose's face with a look of mingled horror and relief. She was so afraid—Rose did not need Jasper to see that—and her little mouth trembled as she reached out an arm…

"Careful, darling," crooned Carlisle, his hand holding her back. "You just rest. Rosalie is coming to see you…"

Something in Carlisle's eyes made her hesitate, though when she came close enough, the girl reached out and Rose did not deny her.

"Watch her arm," said Carlisle, holding it carefully in his grip. "It's broken."

Bella cried when the stairs jostled it.

"Shh, honey, it's okay," said Rose, running her hand down the girl's filthy hair. She smelled like blood and urine—Rose was sure she had wet herself at some point—and she could feel her little chest heaving as she drew in breaths. But even so, the weight of her in Rose's arms felt right—that deep, urgent need she had been feeling was finally gone. She could not focus on her father—who still had a careful, steadying grip on the broken bones of her arm—or on Emmett, who was glaring so harshly at the man in the back of the cruiser that she wondered how long it would be before he snapped. She knew Emmett would not hesitate to take a swing at him… at this point, Rose couldn't be totally sure her husband wouldn't try and take a _bite_ out of him.

But when the little girl cried again—a high, keening sound that shook her to her core—Rose immediately held her a little tighter, her hand stroking down the back of her head.

"I'm so sorry, baby. You're safe now."

Little fists clenched around the collar of her shirt.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're safe."

She would not let her go.


	11. Chapter 11

"Carry her through here, Rose."

The strange man—the one who had plucked her from the closet—had spoken. Bella could not raise her head—she had her face pressed into Miss Hale's neck, and she could not stop herself from crying. She did not know just how she had ended up where she was—How did Miss Hale know where she lived? How had this strange man known where to find her in her daddy's closet? Why was Miss Hale holding her, even though she was smelly and dirty, and who was the great big man looming behind them?

"Hush, sweetheart. I wish you wouldn't cry," Miss Hale whispered in her ear. "You're safe now. He won't touch you again."

Bella couldn't stop.

"This way," said the man. "Emmett, wait out here."

"Carlisle…" The deep, growly voice made her tense. She did not know this man, but he was ever so large and had a big scowl on his face.

"Stay out here," said the man again. "Rose, you come with me."

The smaller of the two men—the one who had carried her out of the closet—was still holding her wrist. His hand was cold, much colder than she'd expected, and each time Miss Hale took a step, her arm throbbed.

"I know it's hurting you," said the man. She had flinched when a door was opened—she did not know where she was—and he had reflexively squeezed her arm to keep it steady. "We're going to get you all fixed up, and then you can have a good, long rest."

It was all she could do not to wipe her nose on Miss Hale's collar.

"Okay," said Miss Hale, slipping behind a curtain. "Here we go, sweetheart. I'm going to lay you down, alright? I'm staying right here, and Carlisle is going to take a look at you…"

Bella did not want to let her go. When she felt the arms loosening, her bottom hitting the crinkly paper on the doctor's table, she scrabbled anxiously with her good hand. Miss Hale took it quickly in hers, her long, slender thumb sliding over the back of Bella's hand, but when Bella reached out, she did not pick her back up.

"Shh," she said again. "You just lay down there, and let the doctor take a look at you."

"The officers are outside…" A stranger, dressed in pink hospital clothes, made Bella cringe. She knew what _officers_ were, and had seen her daddy in the back of a police car. He would be so angry, so horribly, terribly mad, when he got back out. She couldn't even _imagine_ what he would do to her then…

She began to shake.

"Never mind that just now," said the man quickly, a steadying hand on Bella's back. "Go and get me some equipment."

"Doctor Gerandy is on his way…" said the lady, but the man's glare cut her short. Bella had never seen anyone look like that before—not even her daddy ever looked that angry. His face was all venom and spite, and the way the lady scampered away made Bella's heart pound.

The man looked like he would hit.

"You're scaring her," accused Miss Hale. "Just look at her, Carlisle…"

"I'm sorry, darling," said the man at once, crouching to meet her gaze. Bella flinched, though the ire that had possessed him not even a moment before had already melted away. "I didn't mean to alarm you. Can you sit up for me?"

"This is my dad," said Miss Hale quickly. "He's a doctor."

Bella didn't believe her, but she obeyed anyways. It was hard to pull herself up—her body was still sore from where her daddy had struck her, and the bruises on her bum made sitting upright rather uncomfortable.

Each time she shifted her arm, she thought it might fall off.

"Good girl," said the man. "My name is Carlisle. Do you mind if I take a look?"

"The nurse will have a camera," said Miss Hale. Bella's body went rigid and she felt the colour drain from her face.

"I don't like pictures," she quavered.

"Shh… it's okay," smiled the man. "It's just to make sure we can remember what's hurt. Do you think that would be alright?"

Bella shook her head. She did not want to be here… she wanted to leave. She didn't know where exactly she would go—certainly not back to daddy and the closet—but somewhere,_ anywhere_ else…

"Here we go." The nurse was back. "I've brought you a cart, Doctor. The police want you to collect evidence, and they're insisting on a complete examination."

"As am I," said the doctor. "I'm positive her arm is broken, and god knows what else…"

"They also want a sexual assault kit," said the nurse. "I've asked Molly to come down, and she'll be on her way in about twenty minutes."

"Very good," said the doctor. "Thank you. If you would…"

"Of course," said the nurse. She moved to stand by Bella's head.

"What's she doing?" hissed Miss Hale, glancing angrily at the woman. "Why…?"

"It's customary when a male doctor is examining a female patient," said the doctor calmly. "Hospital policy says that another female must be present."

"I'm a female," growled Miss Hale. "There's no need…"

"You're not employed by the hospital, and furthermore, you're my daughter," said the doctor. "Hardly appropriate, given the circumstances. She's only here to observe, I assure you."

"Who's Molly?"

"The sexual assault nurse," said the stranger. "She's very good."

Miss Hale glowered. Bella's grip was tight around her hand.

"Hush, now," she said again, though Bella had not uttered a word. "Don't cry. You're alright…"

Her cold hand wiped Bella's cheek.

"I'm going to put you in a gown, to start," said the doctor gently. "I'll have to take your clothes, sweetheart."

Bella, astonished, was perplexed as the nurse helped strip her of all her clothing, including her underwear. She had to cut the shirt off of her arm, as it was swollen and painful, and Bella watched as they put all of it into a big, clear, plastic bag. Though the doctor did not look, Bella was embarrassed to have Miss Hale's eyes rake over her, her angry, black stare lingering on the blue bruise on Bella's side.

"When Alice said bruises…"

The doctor cleared his throat.

"Not now, Rosalie," he admonished. "Help her into the gown and lay her back down."

Miss Hale's fingers were nimble and quick as she fastened the ties at the back, and she cupped Bella's head as she laid her back down on the table. The doctor looked at her hands next. He scraped under her fingernails and collected the dirt into little envelopes, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly when he saw the cuts from banging on the inside of the closet door.

"These will need cleaning," he murmured. "You've got some splinters."

Carefully, though it pinched and stung, he coaxed each little piece of wood to the surface before he plucked each of them out with a pair of tweezers. All of these went into a bag as well.

"Now, you'll need to tell me if anything hurts," said the doctor, his hands moving to her sides. He pressed lightly as he moved upwards. "Any kind of soreness…"

She flinched when he pressed on her bruise. A little cry of displeasure escaped her, and he made a note on his clipboard.

"You've got quite the mark," he explained gently. "We'll take a closer look to make sure nothing's hurt too badly."

Overwhelmed and confused, her lip began to tremble.

"Shh, shh, shh…" Miss Hale's face was close to her ear. "You're alright. I'm sorry it hurts…"

"I want to _go,_" she pleaded.

"I know," groaned Miss Hale. "And you will. Soon."

The doctor looked grim.

"Book her for a CT scan and x-rays," he said, speaking to the nurse. I need a look at her arm, and I want to make sure she hasn't broken any ribs."

"Yes, doctor."

The doctor took out a stethoscope—Bella recognized it from her checkups at the local walk-in clinic. Whenever she had been sick enough to need medicine, the doctor had always pressed this cold, shiny tool to her chest.

This doctor did the same.

"Deep breaths," he instructed. Bella obeyed as best she could—it was hard to do through her crying—but the doctor did not chastise her.

"Good girl," he said. "You're doing an excellent job."

His smile made her pause—it was so different than the angry face he'd worn before. Maybe he wouldn't hit like her daddy had…

He rolled her onto her side to listen to her back, all the while making sure her arm wasn't jostled.

"Grab me that splint, if you would," he said, reaching his free hand towards the cart. The nurse began to rifle through the equipment, coming back with a bright blue brace wrapped in Velcro.

"This might hurt," warned the doctor, the Velcro scraping loudly as peeled it back. "I'm going to put your arm in here, and this will keep it still until we can take a closer look."

Bella bit her lip. She knew she had broken through her scab when the coppery tang of blood hit her tongue, but she did not stop until the doctor had laid her arm carefully in the brace. His fingers moved as slowly and gently as they could, as if he were handling a delicate piece of glass.

"Here we go," he said, tightening the stiff Velcro straps. Bella flinched when the movement sent shocks of pain up her arm. Miss Hale's thumb, still rubbing soothing circles on her good hand, was all but forgotten as she began to cry in earnest, tugging her arm away just as soon as the man was done.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, taking his stethoscope away. "I know it's not fun…"

"I want to_ go!"_ she mourned. She _hated_ this...

When Miss Hale reached over and pulled her close again, Bella did not protest.

"You're safe," she repeated. "Carlisle didn't mean to hurt you."

"No," agreed the doctor. "We just had to get your arm to stay still so we don't do any more damage."

Bella did not understand, and she didn't care to listen.

"Molly's here," said the nurse suddenly, jerking her head towards the curtain. "Should I…?"

"We can take it from here. You can go, if you want to," said the doctor. "Thanks for all your help."

When the new lady poked her head inside, her face scrunched up in a sad little frown, Bella wondered just how much longer she would last. This hospital—she was certain, now, that that's where she was—was full of new people that she didn't want to meet. She was crying, and she was hurt, and Miss Hale's was only familiar face in the whole bunch. The more she thought about her circumstances, the more began to fear that if she didn't get out of this place soon, her daddy would find out about all the naughty, disobedient things she had done. When he found out just how many of his secrets had been exposed, he would scream and yell…

And then he would hit, and hit, and hit.

"Hello Bella," said the lady, gently wheeling herself over on a stool. "My name is Molly. I'm here to take a look at you and ask you some questions. Would that be alright?"

"No," said Bella, shaking her head. "I want to go."

"I understand," said the new nurse gently, grimacing when Bella caught her eye. "But it's very important for us to know _where_ you're hurt. If we don't know, then we can't make it feel better."

"My arm hurts," she said. "And my back." The doctor had already seen it, so it would do no good to lie. "Miss Hale, can we leave now?"

"Soon, sweetheart," she said. "Very soon. And you can call me Rosalie. We're not at school anymore."

Bella, frowning, didn't call her anything after that. Her forehead rested on Miss Hale's—Rosalie's?—shoulder. She could feel her eyes growing heavy…

"You can sleep soon, Bella," said Molly, "but right now I need you to lie back on the table for me."

"She said no," snapped Rosalie. "You can't force her." Bella froze—she thought the nurse would be angry. If she spoke to her daddy the way Rosalie had spoken to Molly, she would have gotten a big smack right on the face, but the nurse did not seem fazed.

"Her social worker is just outside," said Molly. "She's the one with temporary custody while her father is under investigation, and she says to go ahead."

"So what?"

"So I have her guardian's consent," said the nurse. "From what I understand—and I understand very little, mind you—they're building a case against her father for criminal abuse. Any results I might gather will be critical."

Rosalie looked disgusted. When she turned her eyes on Bella, it made her squirm— Rosalie was looking at her as if she were somehow bad or strange…

"You're scaring her, Rosalie," said the doctor, reaching out a hand to rest on Bella's back. "Put her up on the table. Molly's only trying to do her job. Evidence like this is sensitive, so we don't have the luxury of time."

"No," pleaded Bella. She did not want any more strange hands on her. "I don't want to."

"I'm sorry," said Rosalie. "I won't go anywhere, I promise…"

Bella clamped her eyes shut when her back hit the paper, and even when Rosalie begged her to, she would not open them back up.

The lady started by asking her questions.

_Did her daddy hurt her? Did he touch her? _Where_ did he touch her? Did she know what private places were? Had her daddy ever touched her_ there?_ Had she ever seen _his_ private parts? Had he ever tried to touch her with _his_ private parts?_

The list felt endless, and Bella did not answer a single one. The more this lady spoke, the more Bella could remember that strange night all those weeks ago, when her daddy had smelled of beer and sweat and his pants had been down around his knees…

When the lady asked about touching, Bella could almost feel his hands on her again. She didn't know it was wrong—her daddy had told her that it meant he loved her—but the way this lady was asking made Bella feel suddenly embarrassed. What would Rosalie think if she found out the truth? What would the doctor say? Somehow, Bella suspected that _this_ daddy didn't love Rosalie like that. If Bella told the truth in front of him, he might shout at her or call her mean names…

The doctor, with a quick and gentle smile, stepped out of the room and left Rosalie behind when the nurse asked Bella to part her knees. The doctor closed the curtains behind him, making sure there were no cracks, and Bella grew nervous.

"I don't want to," she whimpered. She pressed her knees together. "You're not supposed to…"

_Private spots were supposed to stay private._

"It's okay, Bella. I'm a nurse, so that means it's okay. You're very safe with me, I promise."

Rosalie's face was white as milk. When Bella refused to relax her legs, the nurse glanced back at the curtain.

"Miss Williams is just outside," she said, pausing as she laid hands on Bella's knees. "Would it make you feel safer if she came in and sat with you?"

"No!" Bella shook her head. "I just want to go."

"Soon," promised Molly, "but right now, I need you to try and relax for me."

Rosalie pressed a sad kiss to her forehead, and Bella relented, letting her knees fall to either side.

"Good girl," said Molly. "Now, you're going to feel me touch you…"

Bella began to cry again as soon as she felt Molly's hands. It did not matter how gentle her prodding was, or how many sweet things Rosalie whispered in her ear to try and take her mind off of it. She was confused and embarrassed all at once—she did not know what Molly was looking for (she was not sore down _there),_ and she did not know why Rosalie was allowing her to do it. Molly's gloved hands were cold, and there were loud scraping noises whenever she selected a new tool from the shiny metal tray she had brought in with her. Bella was afraid of all the swabs and wipes she saw in tubes and bags—what could Molly possibly want with those?—and when she felt the nurse's hand press down, a little too hard, on a bruise, she cried out and jerked away. It was then, as Molly went to help her resettle, that Rosalie spoke out, her voice rough as she wrapped her arms around Bella's torso.

"Stop," she said. "She's had enough. You'll need to make do with what you've got."

"I suppose I will," sighed Molly, eying the collection of samples she had amassed. Her eyes were not happy when she looked at Rosalie—Bella could see the frustration bubbling so close to the surface—but when she glanced down at Bella's slick, tear-stained face, her gaze softened.

"You did a good job, honey. I'm very proud of you. When you come out of x-ray, I'll have a treat for you."

"I don't want a treat!" she cried. Her arms wrapped around Rosalie's neck, and though Rosalie tried to keep her on the bench, her scrabbling feet found purchase on Rose's hips. "Please let me go. I want to leave…"

The three of them—Bella, Molly, and Rosalie—stood awkwardly in the room for a few long minutes before the doctor poked his head back in, his face a mask of sympathy. He stared at Bella for a long moment, his eyes drifting momentarily to the collection of samples and specimens the nurse had retrieved, before he spoke.

"X-ray is ready for her now."

Rosalie turned around without a word, walking right past the anxious-looking Miss Williams, who was hovering outside the curtain, without a glance. Molly did not move from her spot. Miss Williams followed at a jog—Bella had suspected she would—but stopped dead when they reached a set of tall, metal doors.

"This is as far as Rose or Miss Williams can go," said the doctor kindly, bending down to look her in the face. She cowered into Rosalie's shoulder. "This is the x-ray room. We're going to take a picture of your arm."

"No!" She was sick of doctors. She was sick of being poked and prodded…

"The faster we do it, the faster you'll feel better," coaxed the doctor. "If it's broken, you get to pick the colour of your cast."

Bella, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her gown, looked up suspiciously.

"_Any _colour?"

"Any one at all," laughed the doctor. "We've got pink, or purple, or green, or blue…"

"Blue," said Bella at once, her tears slowing. "I like blue."

"Excellent choice," he smiled. "Now, will you come with me and take the picture? It won't take but a minute…"

Bella, swayed by the promise of blue, carefully allowed Rosalie to hand her over to him instead. His arms felt strange, not like Rosalie's, but they were just as cold and just as strong. She did not hug him like she had her—that would be a little too familiar—but she did not pull away from him as Rosalie waved at her with two sad fingers, watching as the doctor opened the big doors.

"This is our x-ray machine," he said quietly, setting her down on a plastic table. "And this is George."

"Hiya, kiddo," said the man Bella had not noticed sitting behind a big computer screen. "You ready for your photo shoot?"

"Yeah," said Bella, sniffling. "I'm gonna get blue."

"Great colour," smiled the man. "But before we do that, let's have you lie down."

The doctor, his hand on her back, helped her lie back on the table. He took her sore arm—the one in the brace—and laid it carefully out to the side.

"This is a little heavy," he warned, taking a strange-looking garment from the side wall. "It's to protect the rest of you, so the camera doesn't hurt you."

"Does it hurt?" she asked, suddenly anxious. She had never liked regular pictures, but they had never caused her _pain_ before…

"Not at all," said the doctor. "But if you take too many like this, they can make you sick."

"Will_ this_ one make me sick?" He adjusted the heavy cape over her neck and chest.

"Not one bit," he promised. "I'm just going to take the brace off so we can get a good picture."

When he did, it jostled again and Bella bit her tongue to keep from crying. The doctor probably already thought she was a big crybaby…

"Good to go," he said, taking a step back. "I'll be right over here, just beside George. You stay as still as you can so we can get a good, clear picture."

There was a loud buzz and a click, and before Bella knew it, George had given her the thumbs up.

"We'll get one of your ribs while you're here, too," said the doctor. "Let me take this off…"

He draped the heavy cape over her legs this time.

"Both arms out to the side," he said. "That's a girl… Now take a deep breath and hold it in."

Bella felt rather silly, though she did not complain.

_Click!_

"All done," said the doctor, helping her sit up. He replaced the brace—a little more loosely this time—and scooped her back up in his arms.

"We'll let George print those out for us and go back and see Rosalie," said the doctor. "Would you like that?"

"Yeah."

"Excellent. Let's go."

* * *

By the time Bella was back on the papery bench behind the strange pastel curtains, she had a lollipop in her mouth and Miss Williams—solemn and serious—was speaking carefully with the doctor.

"You understand the situation this puts us in," she said, trying to speak softly. Her eyes kept flicking over to Bella and Rosalie, both of whom were pretending to ignore her. Bella could hear her, though she understood very little, and Rosalie seemed perfectly content to pay her no mind.

Still, Bella did not miss the stiff set of Rosalie's spine, or the way her eyes narrowed whenever Miss Williams said the word_ custody._

"You're the nearest," Miss Williams whispered, "but of course, you'll need to confer with your wife."

"Naturally," murmured the doctor. "But I can't see her saying no."

"Still…" Bella offered Rosalie a lick of her lollipop. For the first time all day, Bella saw a smile break across her stormy face, though she declined with a shake of her head.

"No, thank you," she whispered. "That's your treat. Molly got it special just for you."

Bella frowned, clicking the candy against her teeth. She did not like Molly—the way she had touched and prodded made Bella uneasy.

"Your cast looks nice," said Rose gently, her fingers running over the bright blue casing. "What a lovely colour you've picked out."

"I like blue," said Bella eagerly, reaching out a hand to touch Rose's hair. It looked so soft, and she didn't seem to mind when Bella did it—it slipped through her fingers as she tried to twist it.

"I know you do," said Rosalie indulgently. "How's the candy?"

"Good." The word was muffled by the stick. "Want some?"

"No," she laughed again. "Like I said. That's all yours."

"But it's nice to share," said Bella mildly, twirling the stick in her hand. "Miss Casey says so."

"You're absolutely right," said Rose, "but that's your special treat. I'd be remiss if I took it from you."

"Miss Hale… I mean, Rosalie?" Bella was still getting used to that name.

"Yes?"

"What's _remiss_?"

She laughed.

"It means it would be wrong of me to take it from you," she explained kindly, running both hands down either side of Bella's face to cup her cheeks. "That's _your_ special treat that _you_ earned, and it would be terribly mean of me to deny you."

"Oh."

"…tonight, if possible." Miss Williams had stopped whispering.

Rosalie, her hands leaving Bella's face, perked up.

"There's nothing medical that needs to be treated here," said the doctor, his eyes flickering to the two girls in the corner. "She's got some bruised ribs and a broken arm, but there's not much we would do here that can't be done at home."

"Do you have a car seat for her?"

"My wife has one at the house."

"What about a bedroom? We really should do another home inspection…"

"I have the paperwork from last month," said the doctor, and Bella sensed a sudden hardness in his voice. "When we moved into this new house the state inspected it from top to bottom. We've got five other kids in the house, you know…"

"Yes, yes…" Miss Williams looked abashed. "Of course. I'm just rather cautious, is all."

"When my wife comes with the car seat I'll have her bring the paperwork as well."

"Are you and your wife acting as short- or long-term foster parents?" asked Miss Williams. "You've had your current children for quite some time, but they're all older now. We can find her other accommodations if you aren't prepared to take her long-term…" Rosalie went rigid.

"As long as she needs us, she'll be in our care," said the doctor easily. "That much I'm sure of. She'll be treated as one of our own."

Miss Williams pursed her lips.

"Well, I really must thank you," she said quietly. "It's rare to find a family that's this big, yet still willing to take in another child."

"We're not starving for money or space," reasoned the doctor, "and we've got five other people at home to help out. We've discussed the issue at length with all the kids—they knew that this might happen someday, and they know what's expected of them."

"It's a good family you have, Doctor," said Miss Williams. "You and your wife are godsends."

The doctor bowed his head.

"We do what we can," he said. "When can we take her home?"

"Just let me fax your paperwork down to my office and get _my_ paperwork filed with the courts, and then you should be good to go. In the meantime, why don't you phone your wife and have her bring those papers?"

The doctor pulled a cell phone from his pocket. Bella watched from the corner of her eye—she did not want to be caught staring—as he began to dial.

"Bella?" Miss Williams stepped closer. "Can I speak with you?"

"Okay…" Rosalie sat back.

"I've just spoken with Doctor Cullen," she said. "Because your daddy is with the police, and you can't go back to his house, you're going to go home with Doctor Cullen instead."

Bella blinked.

"But…" Her eyes watered. "Daddy will be mad."

"No," said Miss Williams, speaking almost as fast as Rosalie did.

"No way."

Bella stared at the two of them.

"Never mind what that monster thinks," said Rosalie gently, her hands in Bella's hair once more. "It's not safe for you there, and you're not going back so long as I have anything to say about it."

"Now, wait a second…" Miss Williams hastened to interrupt. "There will be a preliminary hearing to determine whether or not charges will be filed…"

"You're not going back to him," said Rosalie again, ignoring the social worker. "I know that for a fact—absolutely, one hundred percent."

"But then… where will I live?" asked Bella, suddenly frightened. She was going to _stay_ with the doctor and his family, sure, but that did not mean she would live there_ forever_…

"With us," said Rosalie. "We'll keep you safe until everything is sorted out."

"But…"

"_If_ charges are filed," said Miss Williams, "then we will figure out where your permanent home would be. Do you understand?"

"No."

Miss Williams sighed.

"You're going home with the Cullens until we can figure out whether or not the police are going to put your daddy in jail," she said. "We know he hurt you, and that's not acceptable. Daddies aren't supposed to hurt their kids."

Rosalie's hands on her hair made her calm.

"_I'm_ not going to jail?" she asked, her voice small. "Daddy said that if you took me, I'd have to go to a jail for kids with no parents."

She could have sworn Rosalie growled—Miss Williams heard it too—though her face did not change and her soothing hands did not stop their course through her hair.

"No," said Miss Williams, a careful, questioning eye fixed on Rosalie. "No, sweetheart. You're not in trouble."

"But…"

"But what, darling?" asked the doctor, appearing at the end of the papery exam table. At the mention of kid jail, Rosalie had pulled Bella close again, and she was now cradled in her lap.

"But he said if I told…" Bella's face went red. "He said that if I told what he did, that I would have to go to prison."

"_He's_ the one going to prison," said Rosalie. "Not you. Never you."

"But…"

"Your _daddy_," Rosalie almost snarled the word, "was very wrong, sweetheart. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah," Bella lied, "but he said…"

"He had no right to put his hands on you," said the doctor gently. "We'll make sure that in time, you understand that. Just know that you're not in trouble. What he did is not your fault."

"But he put me in the closet," stammered Bella. "Only bad girls go in there…"

"No," crooned Rosalie. "No, sweet girl. You're not bad. You could _never _be bad."

"But…"

"Shh," she said, and Bella fell silent. She still did not understand. "Just know this—what Carlisle says is true. You're not in trouble, and you never have been. Not for anything he's done."

Bella bit her lip, but did not say anything else before she rested her sore, tired head on Rosalie's shoulder again.

"That's right," said Rose. "You just rest. You must be exhausted."

As if in response, Bella began to yawn.

"It'll be good for her to get some rest," murmured Miss Williams. "As soon as your wife gets here with the paperwork, I'll fax it all to our main office in Seattle."

"Good, good…" said the doctor. "Do you want a blanket, Rosalie? Is she getting chilly?"

"Yes," she replied, and she was not wrong. Bella felt safe in Rosalie's arms—they were strong and familiar—but they were terribly cold. Bella did not know why this was—hugs were usually so warm—but she was more than happy to risk the cold for the comfort that Rosalie's embrace brought her. The doctor, pulling a cotton blanket from a cabinet along the back wall, draped it over her and helped Rosalie tuck it in, cocooning her in a tight, cozy bundle.

"That's better," said Rosalie. "Much better."

"Poor thing," said Miss Williams. "She can sleep, if she wants to. It won't hurt anything now, will it?" She looked at the doctor.

"No, her CT scan was clear. She can sleep," he said. "Close your eyes, darling. You're just about done in."

Bella obeyed.

The murmuring voices, which never completely died down, transformed into a dull hum as she began to drift off. Rosalie's shoulder was no pillow, but enveloped as she was in the white blanket, she was warm and secure. Rosalie's hands never stopped their gentle combing through her hair and she was never in any danger of slipping to the floor, so it was only when a new voice chimed in to join the others that Bella, just barely awake, cracked an eye open.

"I've got it all here," said a lady. Bella could not see her face, but she could see that she was wearing a purple shirt and that her long, light brown hair was curly. Her hands were white, as pale as the doctor's face, and her nails were painted a bright, vivid red. She had pretty hands—Bella could see them as she held out some papers towards Miss Williams, and she found herself wishing that she, too, could have those long, slender fingers. Bella's were still baby hands—small, plump, and stubby.

"All looks to be in order," said Miss Williams, her voice breaking through Bella's haze. "We've got a judge on standby. It shouldn't be much more than half an hour before it's all put through."

"Excellent," said the doctor. "You brought the seat?"

"Of course," said the lady. Her voice was soft. "I grabbed everything you asked for."

"Good," said the doctor. "While Miss Williams makes her arrangements, why don't you come and meet Bella?"

Bella stiffened.

"She just woke up." Rosalie's voice was rumbly in Bella's ear. "She's still rather tired, but I think she's alright."

Bella shifted, prying her eyes open a little wider.

The lady was in front of her now—her pretty, gentle face drawn into a wide smile. She crouched down beside Bella then, her eyes raking over every inch of Bella's face, before she reached out one of her small, dainty hands and stroked her cheek.

"Hello, dear," she said. "My name is Esme."

"Hello," said Bella shyly, unable to suppress a yawn.

"That there is my husband," she said, pointing at the doctor. "You're going to be coming home with us, I hear."

"Are you Rosalie's mommy?" asked Bella, glancing up carefully at the woman holding her. The two did not look exactly alike—not like she'd been told mommies and daughters should—but there _was_ something about them that was similar. They had the same pale skin, and the same strange, golden eyes…

"Yes, I am," laughed the lady. "It's wonderful to meet you."

"I don't have a mommy," said Bella, suddenly self-conscious. The lady's smile faltered.

"No, you don't," she agreed. Rosalie's arms squeezed. "But that's of no consequence. You're going to come home with us and then we'll be a proper family, won't we?"

Bella shrugged. She did not know exactly what it meant to be a proper family, but she suspected that she would soon find out.

"You're good to go," said Miss Williams, suddenly poking her head back in. "I've got the order here. You two are now the temporary guardians of Miss Bella. I'll be in touch later this week to make sure she's settling in. You have my card?"

"Excellent," said Esme, her smile widening. "Let's get you home, sweetheart. You look worn out."

When Rosalie stood, Bella couldn't help but notice the small, but entirely unguarded look of relief on her face. Bella was content to be carried—her legs were too stiff and tired to walk on her own—and when they made it through the lobby into the outside air, Bella took a deep, careful breath.

She didn't even have the energy to wave back at Miss Williams as she said goodbye, nor did she notice the return of the big, dark-haired man that had been lurking behind them in the ambulance on the way to the hospital that morning.


	12. Chapter 12

Even though there was a car seat in the place right next to her, Rosalie did not let Bella go as Carlisle drove his Mercedes down the damp, black road. The girl was sound asleep—she had barely spared a glance for Emmett, who Rose was sure would frighten her, nor had she responded when Esme had pressed a quick, careful kiss to her head. Her breathing was steady, though her nose was plugged, and even when she was jostled getting into the car, she neither moved nor spoke.

"When we get her home," said Esme, "we'll get her into a bathtub. Then some pajamas—I'm sure Alice has her all stocked up by now—and bed."

At the mention of her sister, Rosalie's mouth curled in a silent snarl. She didn't dare growl—the vibrations might wake Bella—but she felt what little colour was left drain from her eyes. Her throat burned with a sudden need, and she swallowed back a mouthful of venom…

"Babe?" said Emmett quietly, his hand hovering over Bella's exposed neck. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she hissed. She resented Emmett's protective stance—how could he think her capable of hurting the girl?—and she was sure he could see it in her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," he complained. "You just went bone white and your eyes…"

"I'd never hurt her," she bit out. "Not _ever."_

"I know, but Jesus…" Carlisle was watching through the mirror now. "You look like you're gonna kill someone."

"I _am_ going to kill someone!" she spat. "Alice should have _seen!"_

"You're not going to hurt your sister," said Carlisle firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Alice did what she had to do to get us where we are."

"She let her suffer," said Rose. She could not fathom how her sister had let it happen—anyone who saw her sweet, little face, as Rosalie knew Alice had in her visions, would not be able to watch her cry.

But not only had Alice watched her cry… if Rosalie's suspicions were correct, Alice had watched her fight, scream, plead, and sob…

Rosalie could not understand.

"Why would she have let this happen?" asked Rose, her voice a forced whisper as she brushed the soft, wispy baby hair away from Bella's cheek. "I can't understand it, Carlisle. How could she have just sat and watched?"

"I don't know," said Carlisle. "You'll have to ask her. But I do know this—Alice is a good person. She would never stand for any kind of abuse, especially not what I saw in that house, and I truly believe she did what she thought was right."

"Not good enough," said Rose. "How could she?"

"Hush, Rose," admonished Esme. "You're going to wake her."

Looking down at the child, Rose saw her little face scrunched in sudden distress. She began to squirm as Rose ran a soothing hand down her back, apologizing under her breath, before she came to rest with her face against Rose's throat, her brow still furrowed.

"Your sister will have had a good reason to orchestrate it like this," said Carlisle again, and Emmett nodded his agreement.

"Alice wouldn't hurt her, Rose," he added. "You know that…"

"But she _did_ hurt her."

"Are we driving?" The little voice made the car go silent, and Rosalie took a deep, steadying breath.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said, purposefully avoiding Esme's disapproving stare. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Who's Alice?" she yawned. "Where are we going?"

"Alice is my sister," said Rosalie gently. "And we're driving to my house."

"Your house?" Bella perked up. Emmett, unable to hold onto his frown, grinned foolishly when her head popped up, glancing carefully out the window.

"I'm not buckled in," she said suddenly, her eyes going wide. "What if we crash?"

"We won't," promised Rose. Bella sat herself in the car seat anyways, trying to reach for the seatbelt. "My dad is a very good driver."

Carlisle winked at her when she caught his eye in the rearview mirror. At once, almost as if she were ashamed to being caught looking, she sunk down in the seat, her face and neck as red as a beet.

Emmett chuckled.

"Are you scared of Carlisle?" he asked mildly. Rosalie was sure Bella hadn't noticed him before this—when he spoke, she jumped so violently that she almost toppled to the floor. The car seat was sandwiched in between Rose and Emmett and when Bella saw the gargantuan man sitting so close to her, she scrambled back onto Rosalie's lap.

Rose knew that this hurt him—she saw a peculiar sadness flicker across his brow before he smoothed it out—but he kept his voice light and jovial.

"Aw, don't be scared," he said. "My name's Emmett. I saw you at your school, remember?"

Bella shook her head. Rose was not surprised that she didn't—Emmett had been there for all of two minutes before she had been loaded onto her bus, and undoubtedly, there had more important things on her mind. When he reached over and stroked his finger down her bare arm—Rose knew he would be fascinated by her warmth—the girl squealed and tucked it underneath her. Rose could feel her heart hammering in her chest—it made her sad—and she carefully shook her head when Emmett went to try again.

"Don't," she said. "You're scaring her."

"Aw, I'm not so bad," he wheedled, bending his head to try and catch Bella's eye. "Hey, kiddo… there's no need to be scared. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Her body began to shake.

"Give her time, Emmett," said Esme sagely. "You've startled her. She'll warm up in a little while."

Rose was sure that her mother was right, but that did not displace the defeated, downtrodden frown on her husband's face.

"You're okay," said Rose gently, trying to coax her up. "Emmett won't hurt you. He's just a big teddy bear…"

She burrowed her face deeper into Rose's collarbone. Rose was sure it could not be comfortable—her little face was squished down quite hard—but she did not lift it up, even when Carlisle spoke.

"We're nearly home," he said, more for Bella's sake than anyone else's. "Are you ready to see the house, Bella?"

She did not respond.

"Give her some time," said Esme again, her hand resting gently on Carlisle's. "She's likely overwhelmed, and the poor dear is exhausted."

"I know, love," said Carlisle. "We'll give her all the time she needs."

Rosalie, one hand outstretched towards her husband in a silent display of support, kept a firm, secure grip on Bella with the other as they turned down the bumpy dirt road that led to their home.

"Does everyone know we're on our way?" asked Rose. "I didn't have a chance to tell anyone…"

"They know," said Esme. "I made sure of it before we left the hospital."

"And Edward?" she asked, remembering her brother's vitriolic response to the vote earlier in the week. "What about him?"

"Gone," sighed Esme, her face downcast. "When he heard we were on our way, he decided to go to Denali."

"Figures," muttered Rose. "What a coward…"

"It's his choice," said Carlisle, though he, too, sounded displeased. "Edward's a grown man. If he wants to remain uninvolved, that's his decision."

"He'll have to come home sometime," reasoned Emmett, peering through the windshield as if he expected to see Edward there, jogging through the trees. "He can't stay away forever."

"He promised me he would be back," said Esme quickly. "I made him swear to that. I don't like it when he's off on his own…"

"Neither do I," grimaced Carlisle. "But as I said, he's more than capable of making his own decisions. He didn't agree with our vote, and it's his prerogative to exercise his right to leave."

"I suppose," grumbled Rose, smiling when Bella popped her head up to glance out the side window again. She would still not look at Emmett, who had his gaze locked hopefully on the back of her head.

"It's better for all of us if there's no conflict in the house," said Carlisle. "The smoother her transition, the better."

"He would love her if he gave her the chance," said Rose, relishing the unfamiliar tug in her chest that seemed directly linked to the girl on her lap. "How could he not? She's here to stay, and…"

"For good?" chirped Bella, and Rosalie froze. She had forgotten the girl could hear her.

"Yes, for good," she said, not even a hint of doubt shadowing her words. "Absolutely for good. You're ours now, sweet girl."

Bella bit her lip.

"But that other guy said no?"

Esme, already anxious, let out an audible sigh.

"It's nothing like that," she assured, turning around in her seat. Rose could see the house now. "Edward is just taking a little trip, that's all."

"But..."

"When he meets you, he'll love you just the same as the rest of us," she smiled. "I promise you that. He just likes his alone time."

"Oh."

Her little fingers began to trace Rose's collarbone.

"Never mind Edward," she dismissed, leaning forward. "Look there, Bella. That's our house."

She perked up, even with the threat of Emmett looming next to her, and carefully craned her neck to see.

"That's a very big house," she said gravely, her little eyes as wide as saucers when she took in the three-story monstrosity they called home. It was entirely too big for their family—it contained eight bedrooms and four full baths—but as Rose began to picture a child living there, it no longer seemed so extravagant. As far as Rose was concerned, nothing was too good for the little creature on her lap, and she would never call anything exorbitant or ostentatious again when it came to her.

"You gonna be okay in there?" whispered Emmett, too quiet for the enraptured child to hear. "If you go off on Alice, you'll upset Bella and Jasper will be all over you."

"I'll be fine," she hissed tersely. Bella flinched at the sound, turning questioningly to face her.

"Are you mad?"

"No, darling," she said, cursing her temper. The false smile on her face pacified the child. "Quite the opposite. I'm very happy you're finally home."

Her cheeks pink, she gave Rose a tentative, toothy smile.

Rose was still not sure how she could be so upbeat after the week she'd had.

"Here we are," said Carlisle, parking his car next to the front steps. "Are you ready to go inside? There are two more family members waiting to meet you."

With a frightful glance at Emmett, who refused to show any discouragement, she rested her head apprehensively on Rosalie's shoulder.

"Are they nice?" she whispered. Her breath was hot and her words, though barely spoken, were loud in the ears of everyone in the car. She saw Esme resist a smile, her eyes twinkling as she opened the car door, leaving the question for Rosalie to answer. Carlisle, too, feigned ignorance and stepped outside, followed quickly by Emmett.

When they were alone in the car, Rosalie whispered an answer back.

"Absolutely," she said. "Alice is my little sister, and Jasper is my brother. They're excited to meet you."

'Is _he_ your brother, too?" she asked, chancing a glance at the still-smiling Emmett. He did not see her, and so her gaze lingered for longer than before.

"No," laughed Rosalie. "Emmett is a little different."

Bella bit her lip.

"Are you ready?" asked Rose, opening the car door. The outside air was cool—autumn was descending quickly on their poky little town—and the girl had no jacket. Still dressed in her hospital gown, Rose was sure she would be chilly.

"I guess so," she hedged, her skin breaking out in goosebumps when the crisp air hit her.

"Come on, then. You're going to get cold."

Bella did not protest, but neither did she show any excitement, as Rosalie carried her quickly towards the front door. Alice had thrown the curtains open—something she had obviously done for Bella's sake—and Rose could just make out her silhouette perched delicately in the middle of the living room.

The twinge of anger that had been so quick to flare in the car was back again, and she focused all of her attention on making sure that she did not drop Bella on her way up the stairs.

"Quickly, quickly…" said Esme, standing to the side so Rosalie could overtake her. Bella was tense in her arms, and Rosalie thought she knew why. When Bella was nervous, her instinct had thus far been to hide herself away in Rose's comforting embrace. But she was also a very bright little thing, and Rose knew that her little eyes were raking over everything she could see. Esme had decorated this house exquisitely. She could not have anticipated having a child, but Rose saw, as Bella's eyes darted to and fro, how the knickknacks, ornaments, and artwork could capture the interest of a curious youngster. There were floating shelves on the walls with all manner of oddly-shaped, abstract sculptures, and shiny, glittering bric-a-brac. She supposed that seeing these things through a child's eyes would be enough to spark wonder and amazement in anyone, and the way Bella's head turned to look at as many things as possible while Rose carried her to the living room made her smile to herself. This curiosity warred frantically with the roaring caution that was undoubtedly soaring through her mind, and Rose was sure that she did not know what she wanted. She could hide away where it was safe, but if she did, she would miss all the lovely and interesting things in this new house.

"Do you like it?" she asked, whispering in the girl's ear. Bella nodded, but did not speak. "Esme does a good job at finding nice things."

"They're so shiny…" The girl was awed. Swept up by her innocent, charming words, Esme clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle as she snuck into the kitchen.

"I'm sure we'll find you some nice things of your own for your bedroom," said Rose quickly. "Esme will…"

The child, gasping, was startled only for a moment when Alice appeared suddenly before her. Rose wanted to growl—she kept silent only for Bella's sake—and scowled when she saw what Alice held in her outstretched hand.

"Isn't it pretty?" asked Alice, holding out a glittering bauble from the living room mantle. It was one of the more gaudy pieces Esme had accumulated—one that Rose was not particularly fond of—but the way the facets caught the light seemed to delight the child.

"Yes," she breathed, reaching out a small, careful hand. It was only a glass replica—Rose knew that the gemstone did not have any real value—but Bella didn't care as she stroked it with a gentle finger.

"Damn it…" Rose heard Emmett's harsh whisper from behind her, too soft for Bella to hear. She knew he was frustrated—he wanted nothing more than for this child to like him, and here was Alice, swooping in to win her over in less than a minute.

"Would you like to hold it?" asked Alice, balancing the faux-diamond on the tips of her slender fingers. "Go on…"

Biting her lip, Bella carefully reached out and took it. The thing was almost the same size as her hand—she had to use two to cup it—and when Alice reached out with hesitant arms to take the girl away, the child didn't hesitate.

"I'm _so_ angry with you…" hissed Rose, handing the now-squirming child to Alice. "Don't think that this gets you out of _anything."_

A spasm of pain crossed Alice's face, and Rosalie felt only a _little_ guilty.

"_I know,"_ she breathed back. _"I'll explain everything."_

"_You'd better."_

When Bella, looking curiously between the two of them, twirled the glass gem in her hands, Alice turned again to smile at her.

"Aren't you just precious," she cooed. Even Emmett laughed. "My name is Alice. You must be Bella."

"Yeah," said the girl. "Thank you for the treasure."

Neither Alice nor Rosalie could contain their laughter, and though Bella was slightly confused, she smiled along with them.

"Come on into the living room," said Alice, placing the girl carefully on her feet. "Take my hand, and we'll go and look at some other pretty things."

"Do you have more jewels?" asked the child. "I like _this_ one…"

When the pair had gone, Rose turned to Emmett.

"Don't be jealous, babe," she said lightly, pecking him on the lips. "She'll come around. You'll see."

"Yeah," he sighed. Rose could see the determination on his face. "I'll make her like me."

"I don't doubt it," she agreed. "But give her some space, okay?"

"I know, I know," he grumbled. "It just sucks, you know?"

_Yeah_, thought Rose. _I do know._

Bella was the only child she had ever encountered who had not turned away from her with panic and suspicion in her eyes. Like Emmett, she had grown so used to the rejection and careful caution of little ones that she had begun to suspect that she would never find one with whom to bond.

She supposed, glancing through to the living room where Alice was letting Bella touch another of Esme's shiny baubles, that Emmett was feeling much the same way. She did not know how she would feel if a child—one that he, himself, loved—had taken to everyone else in the family besides her.

Emmett was a much better person than she was—even though Bella had not taken to him just yet, he did not deny Rose the connection they had forged. Rose was not sure she could do the same—she could almost taste the jealousy on her tongue as she played it over in her mind…

"Don't be angry with Alice." Jasper spoke suddenly—Rosalie had been too distracted to hear his approach, and when the sound reached her she wheeled around to face him. He had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. He, too, had his eyes glued on the girl, but there was a hint of indulgence behind the caution. Rose had never pictured Alice with a child before—she was too much like a child herself—but she supposed that Jasper, who longed to reconnect with his humanity, would find some strange comfort in seeing his wife with a little one.

"I can't _not_ be," grumbled Rose, stepping carefully out of her shoes. "You didn't see that house, Jasper…"

"No, but I felt what she did when she was seeing it," he said. "Trust me, Rose. It wasn't easy for her, either."

"A child suffered on her advice," said Rose. She knew Alice could hear—there was no way she couldn't—but she could not stop her words. "She knew what that poor girl was living with, and she stopped us from intervening."

"She did the right thing," said Jasper. "You might not think so, but believe me. She did the right thing."

"Not by my standards."

"That girl wouldn't be here with us had things gone differently," he said, taking hold of her arm. Emmett seemed to sense Jasper's desire for privacy and carefully stepped around them, leaving them alone in the entranceway.

"It would have worked out just fine," scowled Rose. "You're telling me that she couldn't have told us the truth, or we couldn't have called the police a little sooner?"

"Go with Esme, little one." Alice spoke suddenly. "I think Carlisle's running you a bath."

Rose and Jasper paused.

"Thanks, Alice," Bella's little voice carried. "Look! Now I've got _two_ pretty things!"

"So you do," laughed Esme. "We'll have to put them someplace special in your bedroom."

"My bedroom?" The voice was distancing as Esme began to lead her up the stairs. "What bedroom?"

Esme's reply, though still audible, grew muffled as they crossed the threshold of the second floor.

When Alice appeared before them, solemn and downcast, Rose glared.

"Well?" she prompted, annoyed when Alice would not speak. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Jasper's right."

"You're _wrong_," spat Rose, her ire burning hot. "You told me nothing was wrong. You said you didn't see _anything_ worthwhile… you lied."

"I know," sighed Alice, shaking her head, "and I'm sorry, but—"

"But nothing," snarled Rosalie. "You let her suffer…"

"I did what I had to do," said Alice, uncharacteristically sharp. "What kind of monster do you think I am? Do you think I _liked_ watching her in that house?"

"I…"

"Do you think I _wanted_ her to suffer any more than she had to?"

Jasper rested his hands on Alice's shoulders and though he said nothing, Rose sensed that he did not approve of her sour attitude. He did not like it when Alice was upset—he would always try and avoid it—but this time, Rose was not easily swayed.

"Why would you let it happen, then?" she asked. She was growing more frustrated by the minute. "Why would you let her stay there?"

"Because she had to end up _here!"_ cried Alice. "No matter what I saw, or what decisions I made, there was only one course of action that would have led to her coming into this house."

"Bull_shit…"_

"It's not," protested Alice. "I saw all kinds of decisions, Rose, and all but one ended in disaster."

Rosalie glowered.

"If I had told you earlier what that vile man was doing, you would have called the police. They would showed up, but they would have had no grounds to enter—they wouldn't have heard her crying like they did today—and they would have left the house."

"So what?"

"So, when the police left, he would have gone into that closet and beat her unconscious," said Alice. "He would have left her there until someone called her in missing, and by that time…" Her face was grim.

"I wouldn't have let him beat her," snapped Rosalie. "I was outside that house all night. So was Emmett. Neither of us would have…"

"I'm getting to that," said Alice, cutting her short. "If you or Emmett had intervened, she would have been removed."

"Exactly!"

"And you would have been arrested," continued Alice. "We've been through this. You would have gotten out no problem, but there's no way the state would place that girl in our home with a felon, especially not with one who broke into her house."

Rosalie sighed.

"She would have gone to Port Angeles or Seattle—I can't see exactly which—and she would have ended up in a group home. The cycle of abuse would have continued there, as it does for so many children. I couldn't let that happen. It would have ended her suffering a little sooner, but it would have done irreparable damage in the long run. That call to the police had to be made by the right person at exactly the right time, or else everything would have gone to shit."

"Why did you lie to me?" asked Rosalie angrily, remembering the text messages she had received. "I _asked_ you if she was okay, and you flat out _lied._ Emmett and I both trusted your judgment."

"I had to," mourned Alice. "Don't you see, Rose? You would have acted rashly and done exactly what I needed you _not _to do."

"I would have helped her…" said Rose, though her conviction was waning. "We could have found a way, but instead…"

"Instead, she's here," said Alice quickly, taking a careful step towards Rose. "I did the best thing for her—she's here with us, now, and she's not going anywhere. I know you're angry with me, and maybe you're right to be, but just know this—had there been any way to get her out of that house sooner, I would have jumped on it. I know how much she means to you, and how important she's becoming to Esme, and even to the rest of the family. I would _never_ risk a child's safety—much less one that we're destined to love—unless I absolutely had to."

And then, though Rosalie was fairly vibrating with agitation, she felt Alice's firm, strong arms wrapped around her neck.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, squeezing a little tighter when Rose reluctantly rested her arms on Alice's back. "I really am sorry. But I did the right thing for _her."_

_Yeah, well,_ thought Rosalie, _it wasn't the right thing for _me_._

"Let's go sit down," suggested Jasper, still standing idle behind his wife as Rosalie let her go, taking a careful step back. "Esme will bring her back downstairs once she's done her bath."

Rosalie could hear the splashing and giggles from the upstairs bathroom, and Esme's soft voice as she warned her to be careful of her cast.

"She's lucky she didn't need surgery on that arm," said Carlisle suddenly, exiting the kitchen with a china plate. He had stacked some fruit on it—a sliced peach, a few grapes, and some juicy cubes of watermelon. Someone had evidently done groceries.

"How badly is it broken?" asked Rose, her interest piquing as Carlisle laid the plate down on one of the oak end tables.

"It's a clean break," he said. "Snapped her ulna right in two."

Rose saw Alice grimace.

"Luckily," continued Carlisle, "there was nothing out of alignment. I was worried we would have to re-break it—it had been healing too long on its own—but it took relatively little work to set it once we got it stabilized."

"Bastard," snapped Emmett, returning from the upstairs bedroom he and Rose shared to plop himself down next to Rose on the loveseat. "I'd love to get my hands on him. I'll show him what it feels like to break some bones…"

Rose was shocked when Carlisle did not immediately shout him down, but instead turned to rearrange the grapes.

"I can't condone violence," he said finally, "but part of me thinks you've got it right."

"Who are you, and where the hell have you put Carlisle?" laughed Emmett, impressed. "What Martian planet did you take him to?"

"I'm not kidding," sighed Carlisle, though not even he could suppress a grin. "I'm being serious. I have no time or patience for men who abuse children. Especially not in the way he hurt her…"

Rosalie stiffened, turning to stare at her father.

"What does that mean?"

Carlisle, for once in his life, looked abashed as he bit his tongue. When he did not answer, Rosalie felt her temper rising again.

"I asked," Rose spoke through gritted teeth, "what you mean by that."

"I really shouldn't say," he said, frustrated with himself. "It was a slip of the tongue…"

The room was silent as they listened to the sounds of the bath upstairs. Bella was giggling—Rose supposed that Esme must have broken out some bath toys—but she did not peel her eyes away from her father.

"You don't have '_slips of the tongue_'," said Emmett slowly, his brow furrowed. "Are you talking about her arm? Because that's pretty fucked up, but…"

"Language," said Carlisle at once. "We've got little ears in the house now. You're going to have to police yourself."

Rose saw Jasper smirk.

"Regardless," interrupted Emmett. "You haven't answered the question."

"Nor will I," he said quietly. "It's not my place to divulge sensitive patient information. I shouldn't have said anything, and I apologize. I wasn't thinking…"

Rosalie's mouth went suddenly dry.

"You got that woman's report back, didn't you?"

The silence in her wake was deafening. Emmett, having heard the ordeal from the hospital waiting room, looked half-astonished, half-disgusted. Alice seemed confused—her brow was furrowed and Rosalie knew she was wracking her brain to come up with anything she might have missed. Jasper was the only one who looked stoic, though Rose knew better than to think he didn't care, and he stared fixedly at the plush, white carpet, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on Alice's wrist.

"Rose…" Carlisle sounded frustrated. "It's privileged information. You know I can't…"

"You don't have to," she growled. "Your silence says enough."

Carlisle did not dispute her.

"They found no solid evidence," he said quickly, shaking his head as Rose began to rise. "No, sit down. They have nothing to link him to it."

"That's bullshit," she spat. "I was there when that exam was taking place. You can't tell me there's anyone else but her father who could have done anything like _that."_

"We don't know what exactly _that_ is," returned Carlisle. "There was no biological evidence, and no trauma so extensive that Molly could get a really clear picture…"

"But there _was_ evidence," rumbled Rose. "He's sick… that _monster…_"

Alice's eyes widened, a look of shock crossing her face as she began to make sense of what they were talking about.

"Oh, Carlisle, surely not…" Defeated, their father sighed. Running his hand through his hair—a distinctly Edward-like motion—he let out a quiet, irritated growl before he turned to face them.

"This is not something that needs to be shared or alluded to in front of her," he said quickly, his eyes raking over each and every one of them. "That child has been through hell, and I won't have any of you upsetting her with questions or comments…"

"We're not children, Carlisle," said Emmett softly. "What do you think we're going to do? Make fun of her?"

"No," he said, "no, that's not what I think, but you must be careful with information like this."

"Well, no kidding," said Emmett. "You're telling me they found evidence of sexual abuse. Of course we need to be sensitive."

Carlisle stared at Emmett for a long moment—so long that Rosalie almost wanted to look away. There was a strange bubbling temper coming across in her father's gaze—she had never before seen him look so surly—but if what he said was true, then he had every right to be upset.

There was very little in this world that frustrated her father, but situations like these were one of them.

"We'll have to work through her issues as they come up," said Carlisle slowly. They all heard the distinct sound of bathwater being let out of the tub—Bella would be back downstairs soon, and there was no way they could let her know what they had learned. She had not divulged this secret to anyone yet, and Rosalie could not be sure that she ever would, so they would have to tread carefully until they figured out how they would tackle it.

When her little feet began to patter down the stairs, the scent of warm soap and strawberry shampoo wafting down with her, Rose forced her face into a mask of calm. Esme, no doubt, had heard the entire exchange from the bathroom, but she showed no signs of the distress Rose knew she would be feeling as she followed Bella closely down the stairs, holding her good hand gently in her own.

"Here we are, darling," she said, smiling down when Bella glanced back. "Doesn't it feel nice to be clean?"

"Yes," said Bella. Rose saw that she had left her new treasures upstairs. "Thank you."

"Oh, you're very welcome," said Esme. "Now come on and have a seat. Carlisle's got some fruit for you, I think…"

"I do," he said, gesturing to the white plate piled high with colour. Rose did not particularly like the smell of any of it, but the way Bella's face lit up when she saw made it worth it.

"Dig in," laughed Carlisle. "And sit down. You've got one last person to meet."

Glancing up with her mouth full of peach, Rose saw Bella carefully scan the faces in the room to figure out which one was not familiar. She smiled at Rosalie, who chuckled at her bulging cheeks, and blushed prettily when Alice winked. Emmett got only another sparing glance—the rush of worry on her face was plain to see—but when she saw Jasper, her entire body froze.

"That's my brother, Jasper," said Rose quickly, filling the silence. As she had with Emmett, Bella began to shy away, abandoning her fruit to clamber clumsily onto Rose's lap.

"It must be men," whispered Esme, too soft for Bella's human ears. "Although she was fine with you, Carlisle…"

"He helped her," said Jasper in the same low voice. "He's a doctor. Neither Emmett or I have done anything useful, and she has every reason to be fearful."

Despite his words, he took some careful steps towards her. Bella shied into Rose's chest—she smelled much nicer now that she had been cleaned off—but Jasper did not stop in his trek forwards, his hands clasped carefully behind his back.

"Well hello there, Miss Bella," he said, offering her a gentle, quiet grin. "It's wonderful to meet you."

Emmett watched the interaction with particular interest.

Bella did not look up.

"I know you don't know me, but I think we're going to be great friends," he said. "Alice tells me you got some shiny new doodads for your room."

Still refusing to lift her head, Bella nodded. Her heart started hammering again—it pained Rose to hear it—but almost as soon as it had begun, Rose felt the effects of Jasper's peculiar gift at work.

"There's no need to hide…" he coaxed, crouching down to her level. "You don't have to be scared of me, little darlin'."

The effects of his influence seemed to work as she carefully, with just a hint of apprehension, lifted her head from Rose's safe arms.

"There we go," he smiled, ignoring the little frown that still marred her face. "There's a good girl."

Bella simply stared at him, her lip between her teeth, before she looked askance at Rose.

"Say hi," she urged, whispering in the girl's ear. "Jasper wants to be friends, that's all…"

With all the gentleness she could muster, Rose carefully tugged the girl's lip out from between her teeth, lest she chew hard enough to draw blood.

"…hi."

She hid her face again. Chuckling, Jasper stretched back up to his full height, patting her lightly on the head before he retreated.

"We'll work on it," he laughed, returning to Alice's side. "We've got years to get it right, little one."

Bella, still shy, continued to hide.

"I think it's time for a good rest," said Esme quickly, cutting in before Emmett could take another shot at her. "Bella must be exhausted. I think it's time for bed."

"I agree," said Carlisle, offering Bella the plate of fruit once more. She shook her little head.

"Let's get you upstairs, then," he said, nodding purposefully at Rosalie. "We're going to get you all set up in your new room, and you can sleep as long as you'd like…"

Leaving the others downstairs, Rose trailed after Carlisle and Esme as they led the way to the second floor landing, opening the door to a spare bedroom sandwiched in between the one Rosalie shared with Emmett, and the large, spacious office that Carlisle sometimes used for hospital paperwork.

"I figure you want her close," said Esme softly, pulling down the covers on a large, white bed. The room was generic and nondescript—nothing about it screamed little girl—but Rose was certain that with time, her parents would fix that. Soon, Rose knew, this room would be bursting with toys and colour.

Bella already had her eyes closed when Rose laid her gently on the pillow, though she knew by the sound of her heartbeat that she was not yet asleep. She could not stop herself from pressing a kiss to the girl's forehead, lingering just long enough for Bella to smile.

Rose was surprised that the child, just before she could pull away, snapped her own head up and pressed her warm, little lips to Rose's cheek.

"Thank you, honey," she said, her hand drifting up to the strange, warm spot. "That was very sweet of you…"

"Night night, Rosalie," yawned Bella, snuggling into the thick, heavy blankets. Esme and Carlisle had snuck back out. "See you in the… well, maybe morning. But see you later."

"Goodnight, Bella," said Rose, chuckling. "Just call out if you need me."

The child was asleep before Rosalie could even rise from the bed.


	13. Chapter 13

Though he was used to hearing the distinct sounds of human life nearly everyday during his shifts at the hospital, something about the fluttering, rhythmic heartbeat from the room next door made Carlisle pause. He was supposed to be reviewing his patient files—as the only qualified surgeon on staff in Forks, it fell to him to care for all of the operating room patients—but each time he heard the rustling of sheets, or her soft, quiet sighs, he paused to listen.

It really was extraordinary—never in his life had he imagined taking on this role in any real sense of the word, yet here he was, with a little child in his home…

For the first time in his life, Carlisle was beginning to understand the real responsibility that came with the title of _father_.

It was true, of course, that over his many long years, Carlisle had undergone a wide range of human—and, he supposed, _inhuman—_experiences. He had travelled all across the globe to seek out wonders and marvels of human history. He had sat at the feet of some of the most brilliant men to have ever walked the earth to share in their wisdom and learn their ways. He had carefully, through decades of circumspect study and research, peeled away the film on so many mysteries of the human condition. He had uncovered the intricacies of human joy and suffering, or longing and fear. Carlisle was a man of the world—no one could ever call him _sheltered_—but until this strange little creature with her wide eyes and wounded psyche had slipped so suddenly into his life and home, he hadn't realized there had been something missing.

The family he'd created, while strong, loving, and bonded, was a union of equals—he might be the leader, the one to whom decisions were left, but he had never truly filled the role of father. Patriarch, sure. Authority, maybe. But never father. His children had all come to him grown—he had never had the chance to nurture their curiosity, to foster their intellect, or even, as mundane as it was, to set them on his knee and tell them stories of days long past.

And as he listened, distracted and intrigued, to the little girl in the room next door, there was an as yet undiscovered door in his heart opening up—a kind of thrill and excitement at the realization that she would be _theirs._ She would be _his._

"It is rather marvelous," said Esme, her voice coaxing him from his musings. He looked up and saw her in the doorway, her soft, lean figure silhouetted in black. Carlisle loved his wife—he had adored her from the moment he laid eyes on her—but now, seeing a glimmer of hope in her eyes, made his heart warm.

"You look happy," he murmured, setting his pen on the desk. "Are you glad, my darling?"

"Of course I am," she said, sidling into the darkened room. "Why wouldn't I be? We finally have what we always wanted, Carlisle—she's going to be ours."

"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, she is…"

"She's perfect," breathed Esme, coming to stand behind him. Carlisle swiveled, pulling her down onto his lap. With a breathy giggle she pressed her lips to his, pausing to rest her head against his shoulder.

"She certainly is lovely," he agreed, a perfect image of the child forming in his mind. All children were beautiful, in their own way, but the one that had found her way to them was exquisite. Carlisle could not be sure that he was not biased—he was growing very fond of the girl, even after so short a time together—but he supposed it didn't matter. Little Bella would live up to her name—she would be beautiful to them, and they would love her all the more for it.

"Who would have thought," breathed Esme, "that such tragedy would bring us joy? Last week, we had no inkling of change… not even a hint of it. It's at times like this when I really begin to believe that you're not wrong about the world after all."

Carlisle chuckled. He and his wife had always engaged in spirited debates on all manners existential—thus far, he had not been able to sway his wife to his opinion about the nature of things. Carlisle had been raised religious, after all, and even over three centuries later, his father's teachings still rang clear in his mind…

"I don't know if there is a God," she whispered, a hand on his back, "but the longer I look at her, the more I believe there just might be."

"Wherever she came from," said Carlisle, "she's a gift. _Our_ gift. And we'd do well to treat her right."

"Of course we will." His wife was beaming. "I don't know how it worked out this way—I don't know why Alice was seeing her, or how Rosalie came to single her out—but I do know this: that baby is ours now, and she is going to have the most beautiful, singular life we can give her."

"As you wish," said Carlisle, his head bowed. "Whatever my lady commands."

Anytime he slipped back into his old English accent—something he had unconsciously shed over his years in America—Esme couldn't help but giggle.

"You know," she teased, "we could take her there someday. You've still got your property, and once she's a little older, she might enjoy seeing all the old treasures you've got hidden away…"

Carlisle thought back to the old, crumbling homestead that had been his father's domain. It had been there that the old preacher had ruled with an iron fist, there that he had planned and executed the fatal attacks on the demons in London… Carlisle recalled his father's lined, weathered face with astute clarity. He could almost see the man, by the light of countless waning candles, his thundering voice carrying over the sounds of a crackling hearth and a booming storm, while his mother perched silently in the corner over her needlework…

"Perhaps," he agreed, shaking his head. Carlisle loved the history of the place, but the house itself held very few happy memories. It was not often that he went back…

"It might be good to open a new chapter," said Esme quietly, sensing his apprehension. "Maybe it's time to clear the air."

"Perhaps," he sighed. "But we've got some years yet before she'll be able to appreciate it. We could take her anywhere in the world, once everything has settled down. I look forward to watching her learn."

For Carlisle, there would be no greater joy.

"You're going to be wonderful," beamed Esme, kissing him quickly as she stood up. "You've done wonderfully with the ones we've got now, but I can just tell: there's something about a little one—a _real_ little one—that will make you an even better father than you are now."

"I don't doubt it," he said, recalling the relief he had felt deep in his chest when he'd plucked her, filthy and bawling, from that closet floor. He had not known her then—he had barely spoken two words to her— but the relief he'd felt knowing that for now, at least, this child was safe, had been sharp and encompassing.

"I'm going to get started on dinner," said Esme quietly, lingering by the desk for just a moment. "Rosalie thinks she might sleep through the night, but the poor dear is bound to get hungry. I found some things at the store for pasta—do you think she'll like it?"

"I'm sure she'll love it," said Carlisle. "You'll do a wonderful job."

"I've got the food network on standby," chuckled Esme. "So I can't do too poorly…"

"It will be wonderful," said Carlisle indulgently. "And if the worst should happen, there is always pizza."

"Hardly nutritious," grimaced Esme. "I don't want her eating junk…"

"Once won't hurt her," he laughed. "She's only a little girl, after all…"

"Well," sighed Esme, "I'll go and try my hand at it and see how it goes. If I start now, I should be able to try something else if it ends in disaster."

Carlisle could only laugh, watching her glide gracefully down the stairs before he returned to his work, scanning carefully through his own surgical notes.

_Patient awoke 0.5 hours after being moved into the recovery room. No visible signs of complication. Patient was out of bed and walking with assistance 3 hours after waking, and experienced a bowel movement 6-hours post-op. Patient exhibited no signs of…_

The sudden intake of breath from the room next door made him pause, and he carefully raised his hand to turn on the lamp next to him. He had no problem working in the dark—in fact, he preferred it to the oftentimes harsh, unforgiving incandescent bulbs—but something told him that if the child caught him lurking in the dark, she would be spooked.

Carlisle heard her heartbeat speed up and the soft, hollow sound of a yawn before the blankets began to rustle. She sniffled—he was sure she was awake—and any moment now she would be sure to call out for Rosalie…

Except, she never did.

For a full ten minutes, in the deathly silence of the deserted second floor, Carlisle listened as the child neither spoke nor cried, but seemed to be sitting, motionless, on the bed. For a moment he wondered if he was mistaken—had she simply stirred in her sleep?—but the more he listened, the more he became aware that his first assumption had not been wrong. Gone was the steady, rhythmic staccato of her heart and the even, deep breaths. Her heart was faster, though not fast enough to cause concern, and her nose, blocked from crying, made her sniffle. He could hear her running her hands over the Egyptian cotton sheets—Carlisle wondered if they felt strange to her—and when she cleared her throat, the sound seemed to echo.

Pen poised on the paper, though he had no intentions of writing, Carlisle sat, motionless, listening for what she would do. Rosalie or Esme could not have noticed her waking—they would be all over her if they had—and Carlisle supposed that the child's shyness kept her from calling out. Given the circumstances, she had adapted relatively well to her new surroundings, but Carlisle imaged that it would take an extraordinary amount of courage for her to raise her voice and shout after six years of being punished for doing just that.

And so, she sat.

Carlisle, though he did not want to scare her, was tempted to sneak out of the room and poke his head through her bedroom door. He wanted to make sure she was alright—she didn't sound upset, nor did he smell the briny salt of tears, but he had no way of knowing if she was afraid, or lonely, or sad, or confused…

He had just placed his pen on the desk, preparing to rise from his seat, when he heard her shift again. The soft _thump_ when her bare feet hit the wooden floor made him freeze, and he carefully relaxed back in his chair, waiting.

Her tentative little steps made him smile. He could imagine her, tousle-haired, creeping carefully towards the bedroom door…

It opened with a soft _squeak_.

"_She's up,"_ Carlisle heard Rosalie say. _"I'll go and grab her…"_

"_Give it a minute." _That was Alice. _"She's alright… Carlisle's up there."_

Carlisle wondered, for only a moment, what Alice had seen. He recognized the tone she had used—whenever she had knowledge that others did not, her voice grew soft. Had she seen the child waking? Had she seen her creeping out into the hallway? Had she seen her with _him_, even though Carlisle was convinced that the child was still wary?

The footsteps in the hallway grew louder as the child grew nearer, and Carlisle, knowing she did not expect him to hear her, hastily turned his face to stare at the patient file in front of him. He did not focus on the words—he could not bring himself to read it thoroughly—and out of the corner of his eye, for just the briefest moment, he caught a flicker of movement in the doorway.

A pair of wide, brown eyes set on a pale, nervous face, peered quietly around the door of his study. He heard her little gasp—of surprise or apprehension, he could not be sure—and smiled to himself when she scrambled back out of view.

All the while, Carlisle pretended to read.

It took about sixty seconds for the girl to calm down—her heartrate had spiked when she'd caught sight of him, and Carlisle suspected she had been startled. He could hear her brushing her foot against the varnished wood of the floor, her cotton-clad back scraping against the wall as she fidgeted just outside the door. When he saw her again, her little, white face cautious and wary, she lingered on him for just a moment. Satisfied that he was not looking at her—Carlisle purposefully avoided her gaze—she began to gawk at the tall shelves of books he had stored in the room, her hands wringing her shirt and her lip between her teeth.

Carlisle could not hide his smile when she took another careful step forwards, her toes hitting the edge of the threshold. She was watching him now, her little brow furrowed, though her eyes continued to flicker back to the numerous medical volumes on the far wall.

"Hello sweetheart," he said finally, glancing up from his papers. She looked stunned—he supposed she had not expected to be caught—but she did not run away, for which Carlisle was glad.

"You can come inside," he said gently, laying down his pen. "I'm just doing some work."

Without a word, she took one brave step inside. She did not come any closer—she was staring at the shelves again—and Carlisle, watching her for signs of distress, carefully rose from his seat.

She stared, wide-eyed.

"Do you like books?" he asked, crouching down once he neared her. She seemed to be studying him—he supposed she was confused, as well she might be… here was this man, who had rescued her from her father's dangerous clutches and returned her to the one person she trusted most in the world—Rosalie. But this was the same man who had forced her onto an examination table, had poked her, prodded her, and hurt her, no matter how reluctantly. He had helped her, but he was Rosalie's _father_… and this poor child did not have a good impressions of fathers of any kind.

When he reached out a hand and took her free one—the one without a cast—he was delighted to feel her little fingers wrap around his.

"Yes," she said finally, answering the question. "I like ones with pictures."

"Well…" Carlisle was amused. "These are medical books. They're all about doctor things."

"Oh."

"But you can look, if you want to," he said. "These ones here," he gestured to a collection he'd purchased just before the First World War, "have got some great drawings in them."

"Of what?" Her broken arm reached out and her fingertips—the only bit of her hand that was exposed—stroked the spine.

"Of bodies," explained Carlisle. "Bones, muscles, tissues…"

She wrinkled her nose.

"No?" he laughed. "Here. Take a look."

He pulled the book down from the shelf.

"_Oh, don't show her anything macabre," _begged Esme from downstairs. _"Some of those books are positively shocking…"_

Unable to help it, Carlisle barked out a laugh. Bella eyed him suspiciously—she had not done anything funny, after all—but Carlisle brushed it off.

"Nothing to worry about," he said. "This book is quite suitable. Nothing shocking or inappropriate."

He said that last part more for his wife's benefit than Bella's.

Laying it carefully on the floor—Bella had plopped herself promptly on the lush Persian rug the minute he'd pulled it down—he let her flip it open to a page at random, watching her eyes widen.

"What's that?"

"An arm," explained Carlisle. "Those are all the bones in a human arm."

"Which ones do I have?" she asked, her little finger tracing down the humerus. "Is that an elbow?"

"You've got all of them, darling, and yes, that's an elbow." Carlisle was deeply amused. "This one here," he ran his finger down a bone in the lower arm, "is the one you've broken."

"Oh…" Her eyes flickered down to her own blue cast. "Did I break _all_ of them?"

"No, just the one," said Carlisle. "It's called the ulna."

"Ulna," repeated Bella, her eyes bright. "What's this one?"

"Radius," said Carlisle promptly.

"This one?"

"Scapula."

"This one?"

"Clavicle."

"This one?" She was on her knees now, the book raised clumsily in her hands. Carlisle set it gently back to the floor, laughing.

"Those are metacarpals," he said easily, flipping the page. "Does this book interest you?"

"I like to know what things are named," she said promptly, flipping back to the arm. "Are those words their names?"

"Yes," he said. "Do you read?"

"No," she mourned, shaking her head. "Miss Casey taught us some words, but not great big ones like these."

"One day, you'll be big enough to read this whole book back to front," promised Carlisle. "But you're still very little."

"Am not!"

Carlisle laughed, plucking her up from the floor. She eyed the book with hungry eyes—Carlisle had not expected her to show such interest—but submitted quietly when he carried her out of the study and into the hallway.

"You can look at my books anytime you want," he said, tickling her side when she began to frown. Her sudden giggle made his heart jump, and the interested, inquisitive glint in her eye turned him soft.

_Maybe it would be easier than he thought to earn her trust._

She stared at him, her eyes peering into his for a long moment, before she sighed and bent her head, resting it carefully on his shoulder.

Her little arms squeezed around his neck.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt. "I like your books."

"You're very welcome," he said, carrying her swiftly down the stairs. The proud gleam in Rosalie's eyes and the gleeful tension on Alice's face made Carlisle shake his head.

"_I told you it would be okay,"_ said Alice in a quick whisper. _"Look at how adorable they are..."_

"They're not wrong," said Esme, stopping to watch as Carlisle carried Bella into the kitchen. Her head was up again, her eyes raking over everything in this room which she had yet to explore. She eyed Esme's simmering pasta pot with particular interest, and only shied back when Jasper came to rest at the island.

Even when he gave her a quick smile and playful wave, her face remained solemn and contrite.

"Do you want to stir?" asked Esme suddenly, sensing the changing mood. At once, Bella's fearful spell was broken and she nodded her head, reaching carefully for the wooden spoon Esme held out to her.

"Sit her there," said Esme, pointing to a clear space on the counter next to the stove. "Now, you must be careful not to get a burn."

"I'm a good stirrer," said the girl promptly, sinking the spoon into the sauce. Esme held the pot to keep it from falling as she began to work. "I stirred lots of things before."

"I'm sure you have," said Esme. "You're doing a wonderful job."

While the child was distracted, Jasper slipped quietly from the room. Carlisle understood his strategy—Jasper was educated in the ways of the mind, and he would undoubtedly earn that girl's trust sooner or later.

Carlisle had to admit it—he was surprised by how well Jasper had taken to the child, even if she had not yet taken to him.

"Good job," said Esme again, taking the spoon back when Bella began to stir a little too vigorously. "I think it's all done now."

Bella beamed.

"Why don't you sit down at the dining table for just a moment and I'll get you a plate," said Esme. "There's a good girl…"

Carlisle helped her to the floor, but allowed her to walk to the large, stately dining table on her own. Someone had purchased placemats—an excellent investment, as far as he was concerned—and he placed one carefully in front of the seat she had chosen.

The girl was so small that the edge of the table just hit her chest, but when he offered her the phone book to boost her up, she refused.

"I'm big enough," she had replied, affronted. Carlisle repressed his grin until he had turned around. Esme had taken over then, setting a rather large plate of pasta and a tall glass of milk in front of her.

She began to eat as soon as the fork was in her hand—confirming Esme's theory that she was hungry—and didn't even stir when they heard the unexpected ring of the doorbell.

"Go and get that, would you?" asked Carlisle, glancing quickly at Rosalie. There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway—none of them had never seen it before—and Carlisle cursed himself for not paying attention. They never had visitors.

"Oh, hello," said Rosalie, her voice strained. "Come in. What can we do for you?"

"I'm just here to check on Bella." The voice of the social worker made Carlisle's head snap up. Bella had evidently not heard—she was shoveling pasta into her mouth with animated gusto—and she did not stop until Shirelle Williams made her grand entrance. When Bella noticed the lady, her cheeks were bulging with food and she made a careful attempt to swallow before the fork fell to her plate and her face glowed as red as a beacon.

"Enjoying dinner?" asked Shirelle, stepping further into the kitchen. Carlisle could see her eyes scanning over the room, taking in the high-end appliances, top-notch countertops, and impeccable cleanliness that was so dear to Esme's heart. The child nodded quickly, taking a big drink of milk.

"No one else is eating with you?"

"She had a nap and missed dinner," said Esme quickly, wiping her hands on the apron she had tied around her waist. "I'd promised the other kids seafood, but we weren't sure if she had any allergies…" The lie flowed so easily from her lips that Carlisle had to suppress an unholy smirk.

"Thoughtful of you," said Shirelle, eying Esme with only the slightest curiosity. Carlisle wanted to chuckle—his wife had embraced her sudden culinary journey with such enthusiasm that he wondered if she had forgotten what decade they were living in. After Bella's splashing bath had spoiled her earlier outfit, his wife had donned an old dress he'd almost forgotten about. Add that to the frilly apron, and she was every bit the picture of a domesticated 1950s housewife.

"And what child doesn't like pasta?" continued Esme, stroking Bella's hair. "It's filling and nutritious, and we were sure she would be terribly hungry…"

"Yes," said Shirelle. "Well, dear, don't let me interrupt you. You continue with your dinner and I'm going to have a chat with the others in the living room. Would that be alright?"

Bella shrugged, picking her fork up once Shirelle had risen. Taking another mouthful of food, she chewed it silently, her eyes fixed on her plate as all the adults left her alone to congregate in the living room.

Carlisle purposefully sat himself in the armchair just opposite the dining room—he was too far for Bella to overhear their conversation, but close enough that he could keep an eye on her as she ate.

"Thank you for letting me in," said Shirelle quickly, taking the six faces staring stonily at her. "I know you weren't expecting me."

"No," said Rosalie, her arms crossed. "Is this going to be a regular occurrence? I thought you people were supposed to schedule home visits."

"We are." The woman, at least, did not sound impatient. "But we're a small jurisdiction, and this case has taken top priority. The judge got the paperwork from your inspection at the beginning of the month, but he asked if I would pop by and take a look for myself."

"By all means," said Carlisle, gesturing to the staircase. "Feel free."

"I'd just need to see where she's sleeping, as well as where you keep any firearms," said the lady. "You have a beautiful home, Doctor."

"Thank you," said Carlisle. "You'll find that we don't keep firearms in this house, but I'd be more than happy to show you her room."

"None at all?" The woman sounded skeptical. "I find that hard to believe, especially as you live so far out in the woods…"

"No guns," said Carlisle again. "We're not a hunting family."

None of the Cullens were able to keep straight faces as their father spoke, but Shirelle only had eyes for Carlisle.

"Well then," she said, clearing her throat. "I suppose a look at the bedroom would suffice."

"Right this way," said Carlisle, walking towards the stairs. "We put her with the rest of us, on the second floor…"

"If you don't mind my asking," said Shirelle, "where is your fifth child? Your records show you have five, yet I only count four."

_Ah._

"Edward is visiting relatives up north," said Esme quickly, stepping in when Carlisle froze. "We have family in Alaska, and he's up visiting his cousins."

"What about school?" The woman's eyes were narrowed.

"We made arrangements with the high school in Juneau," lied Esme. "His education will not be jeopardized, I can assure you…"

"Did he leave because of the new addition?" asked Shirelle quietly, lowering her voice so Bella would not hear. "Because if it's causing strife…"

"No, no, nothing like that," dismissed Carlisle. Something about this woman set him on edge, though he knew she was only trying to help. "These plans were made far before we knew of Bella's arrival."

"Well, wish him my best, then," said Shirelle finally, pausing as they hit the second floor landing. Carlisle's study door was still open, and he saw the woman crane her neck to see inside, but he did not stop as he pushed open the door to the bedroom next door, letting the woman inside first.

"This is…" Shirelle seemed stunned. "This is… extravagant."

"Yes, well," laughed Carlisle. "Like we said. She will be like one of our own. This is actually one of our guest rooms, but we plan on making it a little more child friendly come the weekend. I think the girls are planning on taking her out to Seattle to find some things she likes."

Shirelle, saying nothing more, made her observations as she rounded the room, pausing to admire the view of the trees from the wide, bright window.

"Well, thank you, Doctor," she said finally, turning back around. Carlisle was hovering in the doorway.

"You're welcome, Miss Williams," he said. "Thank you for stopping by. If there's anything else we can do for you, please feel free to call."

The subtlest emphasis on the last word made the woman blush, and Carlisle was glad to see that she looked abashed.

"Thank you again," she said. "I'll just say goodbye to Bella, and then I'll be on my way. I'll be stopping by again sometime within the next few weeks, just to make sure she's settling in, and I'll contact you with any updates on her case."

"Wonderful," said Carlisle. They were back in the living room now. "Thank you so much… Bella?"

The girl was by the sink in the kitchen, Rosalie hoisting her up so she could rinse the now-empty plate. She smiled when she saw him—he could not help the jolt of joy in his heart—but eventually fixed a quizzical stare on Shirelle.

"I'm leaving now, Bella," she said kindly, crouching when Rosalie set Bella down. "I've got another one of these for you, in case you need anything."

She handed Bella a business card, which the girl took with trembling fingers.

"You can call anytime of the day or night," she said, "and I'll be sure to visit again soon, alright?"

"Okay."

"You try and have a good time while you're here. You can tell Mrs. Cullen all about the foods you like to eat, and what you like to do for fun…"

Bella shrugged.

"Okay."

"Alright," said Shirelle, rising to her full height. Bella leaned back against Rose's legs. "Thank you once again."

"It was our pleasure," said Carlisle, more graciously than he felt. "We'll see you soon."

When the woman left, there was not even a peep of noise until her car was at least halfway down the long, winding dirt path.

"Rosalie?"

"Yeah, sweet girl?"

"Is Miss Williams going to make me leave?" she asked, her voice suddenly sad. Carlisle shook his head, prepared to cut in, but Rose beat him to it.

"Absolutely not," she said. "She's just here to make sure you're safe."

"But I am," said Bella, confused.

"And now she knows it."

"Oh."

"Come on," laughed Rose. "We've got a brand new TV in the living room, and I think if you give Emmett your best puppy-dog pout, he just might let us pick some cool cartoons to watch."

"You think?" She held tightly to Rose's hand. "I like cartoons."

Carlisle heard Emmett chuckle, and the channel changed to Nickelodeon before the pair of them even had the chance to sit down.


	14. Chapter 14

Rosalie could not keep her smile to herself as she watched the wonder spreading across Bella's face. The mall was bustling and loud—there were people everywhere, milling about with bags loaded to the brim with newly purchased items. There were children with their parents—some screaming and some following quietly along—and couples walking hand in hand. There were clothing stores and game stores, toy stores and shoe stores—any kind of store Bella's little heart could dream up, it was here. The Westfield Southcenter Mall was certainly not where Alice had intended them to go—she had been pining after the high-end boutiques nearer the downtown core—but a stern warning from Esme had deterred them to a more modest, though no less expansive, shopping experience.

"_She needs necessities, Alice, not extravagance. And for goodness' sake, she's six years old. There's no need to buy her a Gucci bag."_

And so, though her sister was less than pleased, she had compromised and settled on one of the larger malls in Seattle, knowing that at least here, Bella would be able to find whatever it was she needed.

_And she needed a lot,_ thought Rose. Nothing had been removed from her father's house—it was still under investigation, after all—and the child had only two sets of clothes, and old pair of sneakers that Rose had salvaged from her father's backyard under the cover of darkness, and one set of fuzzy pajamas that Alice had had the foresight to pick up from the store on the day Bella had come home to them.

The poor child was growing sick of the clothes on her back, and Rosalie could hardly blame her.

"Is this in America?" she asked suddenly, her expression dubious. "I never saw anything so big before."

"Yes, honey," laughed Alice, scooping her up. The crowds were closing in and though they would be able to find her in a heartbeat, neither of them had any desire to lose her in the throngs of people. "This is still the same country. We're in Seattle."

"Oh."

"Have you never been to Seattle?" asked Alice, moving away from the doors and towards on of the nearest store. "It's not too far from Forks."

"No."

"I doubt she's ever left the town, Alice," said Rose quietly, but loud enough for Bella to hear.

"No," agreed Bella, her eyes raking over the neon storefronts. "This place is big."

"Pretty big," agreed Alice. "But that's good. We're going to find you some pretty new things."

"Like treasures?" she asked, her eyes aglow. Rosalie laughed—for days, Bella had been hoarding the glass gemstone Alice had presented her with when she'd first arrived like it was a priceless crown jewel. It held the place of honor on her nightstand and each morning she made sure to shine it with the dish towel Rose had helped her pilfer from the kitchen. Esme had been kind enough to pretend not to notice.

Rose did not understand any of it, but something about the whole process never failed to send her into fits of giggles. Carlisle found it amusing as well, but his wise, sage words on the subject had implied far more than he'd said aloud.

"_She's never had anything to call her own before. Much less something pretty."_

"What kinds of other things?" asked Bella, her arms wrapped loosely around Alice's neck. Something about it looked funny—Alice seemed too small to have this child balanced on her hip. Passersby watched the pair with curious, intrigued faces until Rosalie, not wanting to draw attention, took her back.

"Hey!" Alice pouted, and Bella raised a quizzical brow.

"Alice is strong enough," she reasoned, though she did not ask to be put down.

"I know she is, but she's getting stares," said Rosalie, kissing her nose. Rose loved the way she blushed when anyone showed her affection—it was terribly sad, but wholly endearing at the same time. "She looks funny carrying you, since she's such a little person…"

"Shut up," laughed Alice, though she did not disagree. "If you're going to hold on to her, then that means I can do the picking."

"I can walk on my own," offered Bella, seeming to sense an argument brewing. "I'm not a baby, you know."

"I do know," said Rose, ignoring her sister for the moment. "You're such a big girl, but it would be terrible to lose you in here."

One look around at all the strange and unfamiliar faces made Bella shudder—Rosalie felt it—and she nodded very seriously.

"I don't want to be lost," she said. "Then I would have to go home with a stranger."

"You never go home with strangers," said Rosalie at once, a sudden stab of fear piercing her. She supposed no one would have taught her about stranger danger—truth be told, Rosalie did not know if _any_ kids still learned it… but this one would.

"Okay."

"If you ever get lost in the mall, you go right into the nearest store and tell a worker," she said. "Or a man like _that."_

She pointed at a mall cop, who was strolling through the crowds with disinterest.

Bella cocked her head, surveying.

"And he'll bring me home?"

"No," said Rose. "No, he'll find your grown up."

"Like you?"

"Like me," she confirmed. "But don't worry. Alice and I would likely find you long before anyone else did."

"That's good."

"If you're done with the life lesson," Alice was smirking, "then we can start here. Macy's is just down the way. She needs bedroom accessories and I'm sure they've got clothes."

"What's an accessory?" asked Bella.

"Pretty things!" said Alice quickly. "To make your new bedroom all your own."

Rosalie knew this was the girl's first time shopping—she might have been to a Walmart and perhaps some kind of local clothing company in Forks, but Rose was sure she had never been exposed to shopping in the way Alice liked to do it.

She knew that by the end of the day, she would have to rein her sister back in. Alice was not used to shopping with a human—much less a little one like Bella—and Rose suddenly began to calculate just how difficult it would be to convince Alice to take a break so the girl could eat.

Rose suddenly wondered if they shouldn't have waited another day for Esme so she could tag along as a buffer.

"Come on!" said Alice. "Time's a-wasting!"

Bella, catching Alice's contagious enthusiasm, wiggled her way free of Rose's arms and bounced after Alice as she danced through the department store entrance, humming _The Wheels on the Bus._

Rose shook her head. She sometimes wondered if she would ever really understand her sister.

* * *

"But this one's _blue…"_ Bella's voice was reverent. "And it's got _dots."_

"Yeah…" Alice was beginning to sound discouraged, but Rosalie, standing on the sidelines, watched the power struggle with ever-increasing amusement. It was rare for anyone in their family to stand up to Alice when it came to design or fashion choices—everyone, save perhaps Esme, was more than willing to let Alice butt in when she felt the need. To Rosalie, the struggle had never been worth it. Her sister had a great sense of style, a fact which obviously did not deter Bella's stubbornness, and Alice had yet to steer Rose wrong when it came to fashion.

But watching her face off with a six-year old in the bedding department of a Macy's was an entirely new spectacle.

Rose took out her phone and discretely began to film, knowing that it was instances such as this that could be used as fodder for blackmail sometime in the not-so-distant future. Her sister could be a pushy little thing, and sometimes, it was nice to have some insurance that she would not try and get her way.

"Look at this one," said Alice, pointing once again to a bright pink monstrosity that hurt Rosalie's eyes. The pink was almost blinding—somewhere between a neon poster board and a highlighter. It had glitter and sequins sewn throughout—something that should have delighted any six year old girl—but Bella stood, her face set in a determined frown, as she hugged the polka-dotted blue bed-in-a-bag to her chest.

"This one's got _blue,"_ she insisted, as if there could be no further argument. "And _dots."_

"Esme says let her pick," Rose chimed in, gleeful when Alice's face turned sour. "It's her room, Alice…"

"But this one is so _pretty,"_ she sighed, her eyes wide and sad as they lingered on Bella. This look was one that often worked on Jasper—no one else in the family had any use for it—and neither, it appeared, did Bella. In an uncharacteristic show of dominance, Bella raised her eyebrows in response, as if in challenge.

"What would you pair that with?" asked Alice, trying a new tactic. "You need more than just a comforter and some pillow shams. Look at these little cushions over here." She gestured to a lurid display of purple. "They would go wonderfully… I don't see anything to match those polka dots."

Bella, unfazed, peeked around the corner and bolted around. Rose could not see her, but she could hear her rummaging on a shelf. When she returned, Rose could not help but laugh at the look of utter dismay on Alice's pretty little face.

"Oh, honey…"

Bella had come back with two cushions—one a vivid, cartoonish lime green, and the other mustard yellow.

"Colours!" she squealed. Rose was regretting the treat they had allowed her on the ride down—when Alice had stopped at a gas station, she had returned with a candy bar. The girl had been hesitant at fist—Rose suspected that chocolate was not something she was used to with her father—but when Rose had opened the wrapper for her and handed it back, she had devoured it in less than ten minutes.

Now, watching her bounce, she knew the sugar had kicked in.

"Yeah, those certainly are colours…" said Alice. "But honey, those don't match."

"Why not?" she chirped, her eyes darting from cushions to bedding. "Blue," she pointed to the bag, "and yellow," she tossed the mustard cushion at the bag, "make green!" She threw the final pillow to the ground.

"Yeah…"

"Honey, why don't we find something else to go with your blue?" said Rose finally, taking mercy on Alice. Her sister was nearly speechless—there was a certain art to negotiating with a six-year-old, and Alice had yet to master it. Rose was rather enjoying it—it was nice to see Alice's stubborn willpower outdone by someone even littler than her—but she knew that if she did not step in, they would end up going home with such a lurid combination of bedding that she was sure Esme would never let them take Bella shopping for décor again.

Esme, a designer by trade, took her work seriously, and Rose knew it would irk her to no end if they made the child's bedroom into a monstrosity.

"More blue?" asked Bella, abandoning the ugly cushions. "I can have the blue bed?"

"If that's the one you want, sweetheart, then you can have it," she said. "Today's about _you_, after all."

Rose met Alice's grimace with a purposeful look of her own, ignoring the little pout on her sister's face.

"Blue it is," sighed Alice after a moment of silent contemplation. "I suppose I'll have to give in."

"Someone call the press," teased Rose, earning her a pointed glare. "You never give in."

"Well, I've never argued with someone as stubborn as little Missy," she returned, patting Bella on the hair. The blue bedding was thrown into the cart. "We're going to have a fun time of it when we start in on the clothes."

Rose was dreading it already.

In the end, however, Rose found that Bella did not care so much about the clothes as she did about the little knickknacks they picked up around the mall to decorate her space. Rose could not figure out why, but the child had fallen absolutely in love with the floating shelves Esme had mounted in the living room, and so a quick stop by a hardware store was made in due course. Rose had taken her into a quirky store full of glass baubles and trinkets, and had allowed her to pick out as many things as the shelves would hold. She chose a blue owl made of glass that was supposed to be a candleholder, a chunk of pink sea salt that would make Carlisle roll his eyes (he was never one for pop-up medical fads), a strange purple sphere that looked like it might have been shaped like a bird, and an ugly hipster mug with a face painted on it that could have been either a monkey or a cat—Rose could not be sure which. She found an LED candle that Rose knew would comfort her at night when her room was dark and an old-fashioned alarm clock with two silver bells on either side. She even—Rosalie could almost hear Emmett's laughter—found an amulet with a big blue eye painted on it, whose tag declared it would "ward off evil".

To Rosalie, the majority of her hoard was hideous. As she reached her little hand out to stroke the items on the shelves, Rose could only just stop herself from cringing. They were not the kinds of things she or Esme would have chosen, nor would Alice be caught with any of them around her room. But what Rose knew, and what she suspected her mother and sister would come to understand, was that it was not the value or aesthetic of the items that mattered. What mattered was that Bella had picked them out herself—these were the things, no matter how strange or ugly—that excited her. It was not the poor craftsmanship or the tacky, cartoonish face of that owl candleholder, nor was it the strange, almost abstract quality of the purple bird. It was the way her little face had lit up when she caught sight of them, and how she had held each one, ever so gently, in the palm of her hand. She had looked to Rose for guidance—watching her face with such intensity that Rose had almost felt uncomfortable—and so she had been careful to school her features into mild appreciation.

Rose knew, perhaps more than anyone else could, the importance of having a space that was all your own. She knew what it was like to feel stranded in a strange and unfamiliar place—to feel like you didn't belong and like nothing was truly _yours._

Rosalie never wanted Bella to feel like that, and if this meant buying her a thousand ugly bird figurines, or countless funny coffee mugs, then so be it.

"Do you like them?" asked Rosalie, letting Bella hold the bag while Rosalie held her. She had the fancy organic tote—the only bags the store supplied—hanging from her cast, and she held it open with her good hand to peer inside. She seemed to be taking inventory—her eyes were bright and excited as she reviewed her goods—and she gave a solemn, but not unhappy nod in response.

"Yes," she said. "Thank you for the treasures."

"You're welcome," laughed Rosalie, snorting at her idea of _treasures._ The girl had never seen any kind of real treasure—one day, Rose would show her the jewelry she had amassed from Emmett over the years. The knew the child would love it—she seemed to have a penchant for shiny things—and she knew Emmett would get a kick out of it. Rose couldn't wait until they could show the real treasures their family had—Carlisle had an entire British estate filled with all kinds of valuable and historically significant artifacts from his old life across the pond, and about twenty or so years prior, he had purchased his wife an entire Brazilian island.

The house on Isle Esme, as far as Rose was concerned, was even nicer than the one they had in Forks, though whether this was because of the warmth and sun, or the house itself, Rose did not know.

She wondered if they would ever be able to take Bella there—such a trip could only be made if she knew something of their secret…

…if she liked shiny things, Rose wondered what she would think of her new family.

"Look, there's Alice," said Rose quietly, pointing as Alice came down a corridor, almost floating despite the armfuls of bags she carried with her. "It looks like she found you some clothes."

Bag after bag, parcel after parcel—Alice had gone completely overboard. Rose knew it would be a risk to leave her alone, but neither she nor Bella could stand one more minute of Alice's unflappable enthusiasm. Rose had sensed it when Bella had grown frustrated—there were only so many dresses, shirts, pants, and skirts the child could try on before she was liable to lose steam. Rose had scooped in just in time to avoid a meltdown—she had been sure it was in the cards. Alice had been trying to wheedle her into a little blue sundress, and Bella had been parked outside the change room, her eyes bright and arms folded.

Rose had been forced to remind Alice that she was only six.

The trinkets seemed to have calmed her down.

"I've got all kinds of lovely clothes for you," said Alice, pressing a kiss to Bella's cheek. "Shall we go and put this load in the car? We've only got one more stop to make before it's time to head home."

"One more?" Bella looked exhausted. "I already have lots of clothes now…"

"Not clothes, silly girl," laughed Alice. "You'll like this one. I promise."

"Are you sure?" Her little voice was skeptical. "You said that about the shoes…"

"Yes, well…" Alice laughed, "I'll be right this time. I just know it."

Bella did not have gumption or the courage to speak out again—she had done enough of that for one day—and so she trailed dejectedly behind Alice as they once again, for the third time, made their way to the mall entrance.

"To the right," said Alice, steering both Bella and Rose. Rose did not know exactly where they were going—if it was another clothing store, or, God forbid, a shoe store, Rose would have to put her foot down. There was only so much a little girl could take…

Bella gasped when Alice stopped, and even Rosalie had to smile. She had underestimated her sister—under all that excitement and vivacious bargain hunting was a soft and tender underbelly. Alice had experience in this store as well, though she did not love it nearly as much as her husband did, and Rose laughed when Bella did not even wait for permission before she dropped Rosalie's hand and wandered slowly into the store, stopping to stare before she had made it even two feet inside.

"Look at them all," she gasped, and Alice chuckled. "There are so many!"

"Yeah," Alice glanced at Rose. "Go on and browse. I know you love them, so you can pick out a few to bring home for being such a good sport today."

"These are better than treasures…" Her little eyes raked over the colourful shelves. "I never had any for my very own before."

The amazement in her voice broke Rose's heart—she was such a smart little girl, so eager to learn, so how could it be that she had never owned a book?

Jasper would be horrified.

"Go and look, honey," said Rose softly, pointing her towards the back corner where the picture books waited. "Grab a few that you like, and then we can go home."

"These books are even better than your dad's," said Bella excitedly, grabbing a children's encyclopedia from the lowest shelf. It was thick and heavy—a hardbound volume full of glossy pictures and short, quick annotations. Rosalie had expected a picture book—most kids her age seemed to enjoy those the best—but she did not say no when Bella pressed the book on her, a plaintive gleam in her eye.

"Whichever ones you want," laughed Rose, holding on to it for her. "I'm not going to tell you what you can and can't read."

"How many?" breathed Bella. Rose considered her for a moment. Part of her wanted to impose no limit—it was hardly fair to cut her off when they'd spent so much money on extraneous accessories and other nonsense—but Rose suspected that if she did not, they would be in that store until closing.

"Three," said Alice quickly, giving Rose a wink. "That book Rose is holding is one. So go and find yourself two more and then we'll go back home."

"Okay." The prospect of three didn't seem to upset her—on the contrary, she seemed determinedly excited.

Rose soon discovered that book shopping with Bella was even worse than shoe shopping with Alice—something Rose had never thought possible. Alice was notorious in shoe stores—for almost a decade, Jasper had refused to even go near one when she was with him—but watching Bella pull book after book from the shelves, her little brow furrowed as she assessed all the cover illustrations (Rose knew she could not yet read), was torturous.

"We might be here until morning," breathed Alice, unable to stop laughing. "She's worse than Jasper, and that's saying something."

"She's worse than you!" hissed Rose incredulously. "Look at her… I don't think she'll leave here until she's put her hands on every last one of them."

"We need to get going soon," said Alice, checking her watch. "Esme will worry if we're not back by bedtime."

"Have you found one, sweetheart?" asked Rose quietly, cutting into her concentration as she focused on the cover of a Dr. Seuss book. Her brow quizzical and her little mouth turned down in a careful frown, she shrugged.

"Dunno."

"Well…" Rose reached up to the higher part of the shelf. "What about this one?"

Disney Princess Stories.

"Ooh… that's Rapunzel," she said, pointing at one of the characters painted on the front. "And that's Tiana."

"Yes," said Rose, though she had no clue what the girl was talking about. "Does this look like a good one?"

"I suppose…" she sounded hesitant. "But I want to get the very _best_ ones."

"We'll come back another day," said Alice quickly. "This won't be the only time you get to pick."

"It won't?" Bella's little face lit up. "I'll get more books later?"

"Of course," said Alice, reaching out for another volume Bella had plucked from the shelf twice already. "You seem to like this one, too…"

_A Children's Guide to the Human Body_

"That one is like the Doctor's," she said quietly, almost as if she had not intended for them to hear. "I like his books."

"Well, Carlisle would be thrilled if you got this one," said Alice. Rosalie knew she spoke the truth—it would delight him to know that he had inspired her. "Do these ones look good to you?"

Bella stared, considering, at the encyclopedia, the book of Disney shorts, and the children's medical guide, before she nodded once and lifted herself from the carpeted floor.

On their way out, her little face wistful, Bella paused to speak.

"Goodbye, Barnes and Noble," she said. Alice snorted.

"It'll be there next time," she promised, watching as Bella settled into her car seat. "Thank you for being such a good girl today."

"Thank you for buying me things," returned Bella, yawning. "Thank you for the clothes, and for the shoes, and for the treasures, and the books, and the blue…"

Her eyelids grew too heavy then, and they fell shut with a soft snore.

"We've worn her out," said Rose, reaching back to pull Bella's new jacket up over her shoulders. The car was cold—Alice had only just turned on the heat—and she was shivering.

"She did good," said Alice. "Honestly, I thought she would have tapped out much sooner than she did. But just wait until Jasper hears about the bookstore…"

"Never mind," chuckled Rose. "Wait until Jasper sees what happened in Macy's."

"You did not!" gasped Alice, though there was no real affront in her voice. "You filmed us?"

"How could I not?" crowed Rose. "You got your ass handed to you by a six year old. I've never met anyone as stubborn as her…"

"You've got that part right," sighed Alice. "She's definitely stubborn. I still wish she would have chosen pink…"

"She's not a pink kind of girl, Alice," said Rose. "But don't worry. I know you got her at least two pink dresses…"

"Of course I got her pink dresses!" exclaimed Alice. "Do you know how long I've been waiting to style a little girl? They have such cute outfits for kids nowadays…"

"You do realize," said Rosalie dryly, "that not all little girls wear pink? Or even dresses, for that matter?"

"Oh whatever," laughed Alice. "She'll wear them. I've seen it. As long as I cut it with a decent amount of t-shirts and jeans, she'll let me stuff her into a pretty dress every now and again."

"Lucky you."

"Oh hush…" Alice was giggling. "You had fun today, and you know it."

"I did," admitted Rose. "I'm not usually a shopper, but it was nice watching her open up."

"You learn a lot about someone by how they shop," quipped Alice. "And now, we know what kinds of things she likes."

"Yeah," Rosalie grimaced. "Tacky knickknacks."

"Tacky knickknacks," agreed Alice. "But they're _her_ tacky knickknacks."

"That's exactly why I bought them," said Rose. "I don't like them, but she obviously thinks highly of them…"

Rose turned around to look in the back seat. There was a flush on Bella's cheeks—the same flush that she had shown each time she saw something she liked—and Rosalie noted, with only a small twinge of pity, how even in sleep she kept her hand clenched around her precious bag of trinkets with the Barnes and Noble bag on her lap.


	15. Chapter 15

It was shocking, really, how quickly the family had integrated the clumsy little child into their lives. Jasper was astonished as he sat in the living room, completely alone except for the softly snoring girl on the couch, with an outdated history textbook on his knee and an old ballpoint pen clasped lightly in his hand. This had been the first time Jasper had not batted an eye—the first time the sight of her had not thrown him into brief, but sudden, disarray. He did not sneak away this time, nor had he done a quiet, careful sweep of the house to determine where she was. He had simply loped down the stairs, silent and quick, to rest on the armchair in the corner by the window—one of the best reading spots in the house. He had noticed her there, asleep under Esme's favourite afghan, but for once, there hadn't been even a flicker of doubt.

He had simply sat down, and that in itself was a miraculous feat.

"_You won't hurt her."_ Alice had said this multiple times. _"I promise you, Jasper. You won't hurt her."_

Until this moment, Jasper had not believed her.

It had been hard for him to get used to the scent she carried with her—she confused him, as all children did. Part of her beckoned to the predator that lurked so close to the surface, the monster he could only just keep in check. That frightening part of him cared only for the rhythmic _thump_ of her heart and the soft rush of blood through her veins. The beast called out for him to bite, to sink his teeth deep into her soft, warm flesh and drain her dry… all for the satisfaction of the hunt.

But the other side of him—those human instincts that had been so recently rediscovered—longed to watch her grow. That part of him adored her toothy grin, her big eyes, and her soft, almost lisping voice. He wanted so badly to get to know her and earn her love. This human side abhorred the violence of his prior life and practically _begged_ him to become the man he wanted to be. Jasper had tossed this gentleness away long ago under the nighttime stars of a distant and troubled war, but under Carlisle's careful tutelage and with the guidance of his clever wife, Jasper had been able to take some of it back.

But he supposed it was like returning to a favourite childhood garment after one was fully grown. He had shed it long ago and he had changed in the interim—he was no longer the youth he had once been. The fabric of love and curiosity had been torn away by war and strife, and now, he was left with the tattered remnants, wondering what on Earth he was supposed to do with the pieces.

Jasper had still not quite figured out how to put them back together—he was not sure if he ever would—but he held them close to his heart and he hoped that one day, they would become part of him again.

And he was starting to think, as his wife had sagely hinted, that this little girl would be the key to it all. He was still amazed that he was able to sit next to her, unsupervised, for at more than twenty minutes without so much as a thought of losing control.

He had never felt _more_ in-control, and the longer he stared at her, the more he began to trust himself.

Carefully, placing the textbook on the seat of the chair, he rose to his feet, taking one silent step closer. When he inhaled he felt his throat burn—her scent was so warm, and so tempting…

But as he looked at her sleeping face, flushed under the heat of the blanket, he knew that he could never bring himself to pounce. He had never hurt a child before—of that, he was certain—and despite the fact that this was the closest he had been to a child in a long while, he did not feel nearly as wild as he once thought he might.

Another step brought him within five feet of her, and when his foot came to rest on a creaky floorboard, she turned over. He paused, lips pursed as he waited for her to wake—to find him creeping up on her as she slumbered…

But she never did.

Listening, Jasper could hear the distinct sounds of his family milling around the house. It was a lazy Sunday—they usually spent the day indoors—and even Carlisle had taken it upon himself to request Sunday afternoons off.

They had always used their free days for some much needed downtime—it was sometimes difficult living so close together with so many others, but on Sunday afternoons, when everyone took it upon themselves to do something they loved, Jasper always felt renewed.

He could hear Carlisle up in his study, flipping through books and paper. It was undoubtedly work-related business—Carlisle was rarely able to step away from his patients—but Jasper knew that to his father, the work was soothing it its own way. Alice was sewing—she had drawn up countless new clothing designs suspiciously tailored to Bella's measurements and though she and Jasper both knew that this stubborn, headstrong little girl would refuse to wear at least half of them, his wife would find joy in the hobby nonetheless. Esme was tending to her garden, though it was late in the season, pulling up the last of the carrots and wild onions that had sprouted up sometime before they had arrived in this new house. Jasper did not know exactly what his sister was doing—Rosalie's Sunday fun was always mysterious—but by the sounds from the upper floor and the pungent scent of paint, Jasper suspected that she might have started work on Bella's new bedroom. The child had insisted on blue—it was obviously her favourite—and Rose had been all too eager to tackle the stark white walls while the girl napped. Emmett, though Rose had tried to enlist his help, was in the bedroom he shared with Rosalie, tapping away on the PlayStation remote.

Jasper, taking after Carlisle, had chosen a book from his vast collection to peruse—he had always enjoyed reading. Alice complained about the way he treated his books—they were all marked up with pen and highlighter—but he had vowed that never would a book cross his desk that he would not critique.

Alice called it nitpicking. Jasper called it fact-checking.

But all of this—the corrections, the overpriced textbook, and the pen sitting open on the chair—were forgotten as Jasper took another step towards the child, always mindful of the burn in his throat and the flood of venom in his mouth.

Only when she was only three feet away—much too close for anyone to step in should he lose control—did he finally relax, crouching carefully beside her.

He knew it was a risk—it was almost stupid, really—but when her face was only a foot away from his, he leaned in close and pressed his nose to her hair, taking a deep, long breath.

The burn was instantaneous—it felt like a match ignited in the back of his throat. But even when his mouth flooded, the colour draining from his eyes, Jasper sat back on his heels and was still very much in possession of that tattered human cloak he was so desperate to keep.

"You'll wake her." Alice's voice rang softly from behind him and with an embarrassed wince, Jasper turned to face her. She was standing on the last step of the staircase, her hands tapping idly on the banister as she surveyed the scene with gentle, sparkling eyes. Jasper could not read her face—it was decidedly neutral—but when he reached out with the sixth sense that came so naturally to him, he felt nothing but fond amusement.

"I wasn't going to hurt her," he said, though his words were not needed. "I was just…"

"I know," said Alice, shaking her head. She hopped down the final step. "Of course you weren't. That's not why I came."

"No?" he murmured, taking her into his arms. She was so small—her head just barely brushed his chin—but he stooped to kiss her anyways.

"No," she giggled. "I saw the whole thing before you even knew you would do it. I just came to say that I'm proud of you."

"Are you, now?" he grinned. "I'm pretty proud, myself. I wasn't sure how we'd do, she and I…" He glanced back at the sleeping child. "But she's been here for a few days now and not once have I felt the urge to take a bite out of her."

Alice, frowning, smacked him on the chest.

"I've told you," she said. "You _won't_ hurt her."

"There's a difference between hearing and seeing," said Jasper reasonably. "It's one thing for you to tell me something, but it's another to see it for myself."

"I suppose," sighed Alice. "But I _saw_ it before I _told_ you."

"I know, Alice," he said. "I'm just a little baffled, that's all."

"You've done exceptionally well," she replied. "I would have never risked her coming here, no matter what Rose wanted, if I thought she would be in danger. I would never do that to a child—she deserves a safe, happy home—and moreover, I would never do that to _you."_

Jasper raised his eyebrows.

"You would be devastated if you hurt her," murmured Alice, her head resting on his chest. Jasper ran his fingers through her hair. "You would never be able to live with yourself, especially knowing how important she's become to all of us."

"Rosalie would tear me apart," said Jasper. He knew his sister loved him—he even suspected that he might be the favourite brother—but something deep and maternal had been awakened in Rosalie the minute that child had come into her life. That little girl had become like blood, and Jasper had no delusions that she would hesitate to act should he become a threat.

"She's safe," said Alice again. "You've got enough control now to ensure that."

"I just hope it stays that way," he worried, his mind conjuring up a frightful scene. He had seen it many times before, though never with anyone as small as Bella. His hands were wet and sticky, his clothes torn to shreds. His mouth was dripping with warm, red blood and at his feet, growing colder by the second, was the pale corpse of some poor soul who had been unlucky enough to cross his path.

"Stop it," said Alice, her fingers gripping his chin. She forced him to look at her. The minute he did, he felt some of the blackness drain from his eyes, and she stood up on tiptoe to press a quick, careful kiss to his lips.

"Stop it," she said again, though this time she spoke softly. "You're not the same man you used to be."

"No," he agreed.

"You've come such a long way."

"Yes."

"You won't hurt her."

"No," he said finally, turning again to eye the sleeping child. "No, I could never hurt her."

Jasper felt the sudden thrill of confusion—the unguardedness of children's emotions were always a treat—followed by realization, contentedness, and a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety.

When he looked over again, he saw her big brown eyes fixed on him, peeking out from under the afghan. Jasper smiled at her—she did not respond—and turned to leave the room when Alice stopped him.

"Try again with her," she whispered, too soft for the child to hear. "She's intimidated by you."

"I know," he said wryly. "She's anxious."

"Try again," she advised. She smiled when Bella caught her eye. "Just… try again."

"How?"

"You'll figure it out," laughed Alice, pecking him on the cheek. "Just don't stand there like a total dunce."

She was up the stairs and out of sight before Jasper could say another word.

Ignoring her advice—or rather, forgetting it when he turned towards Bella—Jasper stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, mindful to keep his stance nonthreatening. The child was not _afraid_, per se, but there was a distinct mix of curiosity, apprehension, and a good dose of wariness that seemed to make her freeze. She never took her eyes away from him—not even when he took a few steps back towards the abandoned armchair—and when he picked up his textbook, he saw her sit up a little straighter.

He smirked when he caught her sudden spark of interest.

There were a few long minutes of silence—Bella sat up, rubbed her eyes, and stared at the volume in his hands, and Jasper, for his part, pretended to read the introductory remarks. Taking a leaf from Carlisle's book, he did not not look up at her—he knew that she would shy away if he did—and he waited until her little feet hit the floor and she took a cautious step closer to him, her neck craned.

"Do you want to look?" he asked mildly, still not glancing up. "You're welcome to."

Jasper wondered just what the root of the girl's anxiety could be. It was rare for him, though not not entirely unheard of, to feel it so strongly in a child. Her particular brand was a distinctly adult mix—a bit of fear, a dash of apprehension, and a whole lot of uncertainty to top it all off. Underneath that was something stagnant that Jasper could identify as disbelief, and buried even deeper was a striking, almost caustic _something_ that might have been distrust.

The deeper he dove, the more he could almost taste it on her—she wore it like a bitter perfume.

And so as he watched her, fidgeting nervously at the other end of the room, he was determined that so long as she had him around to help, she would find a way to shed those worries for good. When he reached out—combatting the strong emotion with a healthy dose of confidence—she suddenly perked up and gave a shy nod, taking another step closer.

When she reached the side of the armchair he could still taste the fear, but the radiant smile he coaxed onto her face all but blotted it out.

"Good girl," he said, offering her a hand. "Do you like history?"

"Dunno," she said, a loud yawn escaping. "What's it about?"

"What's it about?" he quoted incredulously. She blinked up at him. "It's about _everything_, darlin'."

"Everything?" her eyes narrowed at the little script on the page.

"Yes," he said, opening to the first chapter. It was an old middle school textbook—something from the '90s he had salvaged from a church book sale in Alaska—and he was suddenly glad he had chosen this one. There were paintings and pictures galore, and Jasper watched with growing fascination as her attention focused, and she began to frown.

"What's it say?" she asked, standing up a little taller. She took a step closer to the front of the chair.

"All sorts," he said again. "Would you like me to read it?"

"Yes please."

"Well then," he said, a spark of inspiration making him pause. "You can't see very well from over there, can you?"

"No…" The apprehension was back. Jasper squashed it at once.

"Well," he bargained, "why don't you come on over here and sit with me?"

"But there's only one seat," she frowned. She began to pick at her nails.

"Come here," said Jasper again. He wondered for a moment if he was pushing his luck—the girl had taken to the women in the house easily enough, but so far only Carlisle had earned enough trust to hold her in his arms. Jasper had watched the way she was with Emmett—genuine fear filled her whenever he came near—and the strange nervousness she felt with Jasper himself should have been enough to deter him.

But if this was a bad decision, Jasper felt sure Alice would have warned him.

"On your knee?" she asked quickly, her eyes widening as Jasper gently reached down to scoop her up. She was such a tiny little thing—he could feel her ribs through her shirt as he held her sides—and when he lifted her up onto his lap, it was like lifting a feather from a bird's nest.

"There we go." He settled her carefully on his lap. "Is that alright, little darlin'?"

"I guess," she shrugged, shifting to see the pictures. "What's this say?"

Smiling, Jasper began to read the introductory paragraph of the first chapter.

* * *

"And this one!" cried Bella, her little knees digging into his thighs. Jasper laughed—of course she could not possibly _hurt_ him, but her sudden and total disregard for his personal space was highly amusing. She had yet to notice the other eyes on her—everyone in the family had heard her exuberant giggles and had left their projects to watch. None of them cared to interfere—the child seemed so pleased—and Jasper was more than happy to indulge her.

"Lovely," praised Jasper, taking the Disney Princess book in his hands. "Is this one that Alice got you?"

Alice, almost invisible in the dim kitchen, had a hand clamped over her mouth as she bit back laughter.

"Yes!" giggled Bella, plopping back down on his lap. "And _this…" _She sat up on her knees again to reach the floor. Jasper kept a careful arm around her middle to stop her falling as she grabbed her new encyclopedia. "This one's got _animals!"_

"_Did he dose her?"_ Jasper heard Emmett's grumbling voice from the music room. _"Man, she still won't even come _near _me…"_

Jasper snorted. He could feel the waves of jealousy rolling off his brother, though Emmett was far too jovial to stay bitter for too long, as the girl crawled all over him. Jasper was not ashamed to admit that he _had_ dosed her—not with any kind of drug or narcotic, but rather with an indulgent wave of excitement. It was a pleasure to watch her—no one in the house could deny it—and he had been so eager for the girl to take to him.

It had taken thirty minutes of quiet reading, during which Bella had barely said a word, for Jasper to finally begin peeling back the layers of doubt and worry in her little mind, replacing each with joy.

When he'd pushed a little excitement into the mix—something this particular child was not used to feeling—she had leapt eagerly off his lap to haul him by the hand up to her bedroom. Jasper had followed without complaint and she'd barged in on Rosalie's painting to retrieve the three hardbound books from Barnes and Noble.

She had not even said hello, though the toothy, bouncing smile on her face had stopped Rose's concern in its tracks.

It hadn't taken long for the rest of the family to hear her loud, chirping voice and come sneaking into the room, each set of eyes fixed interestedly on the squirming little girl.

"Do you know how to read _this_ one?" she asked, opening the book to a page in the middle. In her excitement, she pressed it so close to Jasper's face that he had to lean back, carefully taking it from her.

"I can read whatever you want me to," he chuckled, closing the book with a _snap_. It did not stop her grin. "And if you sit and listen, I can teach you, too."

"Oh…" Her eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Really," he winked. "You just sit tight and listen, and I'll tell you all about the letters."

"_That's just the sweetest thing…"_ Esme was in the entranceway, her eyes peering carefully around the corner. None of them wanted to startle Bella—they did not want to break the spell Jasper had cast, but neither did they want to miss this new exuberance. Jasper, for what it was worth, was enjoying himself—he found it surprisingly easy to feed off of her joy and project it back to her at the same time. His family, though usually receptive to any assistance he might offer, was always resistant when he found himself sharing too freely—but Bella knew no such restrictions. She accepted what he gave her, and Jasper found her open, friendly jubilance contagious.

Knowing that his family was missing out—they would never be able to feel her out the way he could—he projected a quick, joyful burst outward. He saw the frown melt from Emmett's face—though the envious undertones were still present—and the already-wide smile on Rosalie's face finally reached her eyes.

"That's Rapunzel," said Bella, bouncing on his knee as she pointed her little finger to the book. "And that's Merida. And that's…"

"Tiana," said Jasper, grinning. "You've told me."

"Oh yeah…" She rested her head on his shoulder. "I forgot."

"Who's this one?"

"Jasmine," said Bella at once. "She's got long hair…"

"Hey, look at this," said Jasper, carefully turning the page. "Look at this one, here…"

Bella, glaring down at the page, squinted suspiciously at the word _Princess._

"What's it say?"

"You tell me," challenged Jasper, his eyebrows raised. "What's it look like?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. She sat up on her knees again, her face mere inches from his. "But you're _very_ smart. So _you_ know…"

Jasper wondered if she'd picked up the habit from Alice—his wife was sure to have tried it when the two were out shopping. The wide eyes and full, pouting lips made him roar with laughter—he was so loud that not even Bella could keep up her puppy-dog stare, and she, too, began to giggle.

"Did Alice teach you that?" he asked, tapping the end of her nose.

"Maybe…" She avoided his gaze. "Maybe _not…"_

"You're clever," he said, settling her back on his knee. "I _know_ Alice taught you. She tries that look on me every other day."

"_Oh, I do _not…"Alice's little whisper carried from the kitchen. Bella did not hear.

"But you _are_ very smart," she said again, only slightly subdued. "So what's that word say?"

"What's this letter?" Had he been human, he was sure his eyes would have been streaming. "Just the first one, there…"

"P!"

"Yes," said Jasper, letting her settle back against his chest. Her little head rested just under his chin, her feet dangling on either side of his knees as she toyed with the knuckles on his left hand. Jasper did not mind.

"And what's 'P' sound like?"

"Puh!"

"Right," said Jasper. "Now, what's this letter?"

"R?"

"And it makes…"

"Rrrr…" The little girl growled.

"Right," he chuckled. "Now what sound do we get when we put those two together?"

"Puh, rrr?"

"Close," said Jasper. "Prrrr… like a kitty cat."

She imitated him, her face an adorable scowl.

"Great. Now what's this one?"

"I."

"And it makes?"

"Eye," she said quickly. "Or ee, or ih."

"Ih," agreed Jasper. "This time, its 'ih'. Like we use when we say 'if'."

"Prih," said Bella quietly, her brow furrowed. "Prih... prih…"

"Prih…?" He pointed at the 'N'. Bella perked up.

"Prin!"

"Prin…?"

"Prince!"

"Prince…?"

"Sss…" she giggled. "Like a snake."

"Like a snake," agreed Jasper. "But you've almost got it. Put all those sounds together…"

"Prince..sss…"

Jasper bit his lip.

"Prince..sss… prince…sss…._ Princess!"_

She shouted the word so loudly that Jasper's ears began to ring.

"Good girl!" he praised. She stared in amazement at the word on the page, her mouth forming it almost reverently.

"Princess, princess, princess…"

"You did it," he repeated, carefully closing the book when she began to squirm again. "Didn't I tell you you could?"

"Oh… _thank you!"_

Jasper was not expecting her to throw her arms around his neck… she had been so nervous this morning, so hesitant to even _look_ at him, but it would seem that his coaxing had broken down all barriers between them.

Even when his mouth flooded and his eyes went stark black, Jasper did not so much as flinch.

"You're welcome, little darlin'," he murmured, patting her carefully on the back. Her little face was pressed into his shoulder—he could smell the strawberry shampoo on her hair—and though her grip was soft and feeble, Jasper knew she was squeezing with all her might.

"Thank you, thank you, _thank you!"_ Her voice was almost a squeal. "I learned a word! A real, actual _word!"_

"Had I known you'd be this excited, I'd have taught you sooner," teased Jasper, carefully disentangling her arms when his throat began to burn a little too sharply. "You'll be reading circles around all of us in no time, if you keep that up."

"Yeah…" Her eyes were wide as dinner plates as she stared up at him. It made Jasper slightly uncomfortable—never before had he been the subject of such abject reverence.

"You're so smart, sweet girl," said Rose, suddenly poking her head into the room. Jasper supposed she could not help it—Bella's enthusiasm was infectious. Bella jerked back to reality, her eyes leaving Jasper's as she beamed at Rosalie, scrambling quickly off of Jasper's lap.

"Your brother taught me a word!" she gasped, launching into Rose's arms. Jasper cringed when she jostled her sore arm—he could still not believe something as flimsy as her cast was meant to keep her bone splinted—but Rose was quick and caught her up.

"I heard," she said, laughing as Bella began to twine her fingers in her golden hair. "What a fine word to learn, too…"

"Princess," she said softly. "I like that word."

"That's why he chose it," whispered Rose, winking over at Jasper. Jasper busied himself with the pile of books—Bella had brought three down of her own, and she'd also retrieved the pre-war medical text that Carlisle had let her look at in his study. The girl was too wired to help clean up but Jasper didn't mind—it was worth every bit of extra work to see her so uninhibited. He hoped it would last—that this would not be a one-time fluke that left her feeling awkward or frightened of him once the effects of his manipulation had worn off.

But if it was, Jasper would do it again and again until he conditioned the fear out of her—he would love her, if she would let him.

Of that, he was certain.


	16. Chapter 16

There was a heavy cloud of apprehension in the air as Bella stood, shuffling her feet reluctantly outside her newly painted bedroom. She was wearing one of her new outfits—a brand new pair of jeans and a purple shirt with a shiny pink heart on it, paired with the light-up sneakers she had wheedled out of Alice at the shoe store in Seattle. These new shoes were lace-ups, not Velcro like she'd had before, and she had spent the entire night prior learning just the right way to tie them.

But now that she _had_ tied them, she wanted to take them off.

"I don't want to go," she said, her face downcast as Rosalie helped her into her new rain jacket. It was fuzzy on the inside and Bella had picked it out herself, but the cuff was tight around her cast and wearing it in the house made her far too hot.

"I know, baby," said Rosalie gently, leaning back on her heels. "I know you don't. But it's very important for you to go."

"The other kids will make fun," she said, glancing down at her broken arm. She had chosen the blue with such eagerness the week before—and she did love the colour—but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that this new addition would not endear her to any of the kids in the class. Jessica would laugh. Lauren would tease. Little Angela, though she had always been nice to Bella, would stare, and Mike would point. Rose had put some markers in her bag so the other kids could sign their names and draw some pictures on her cast at recess, but Bella knew too well that none of them would. She did not have friends—not like the other kids—and she was afraid to look different.

"They won't," promised Rose, zipping the jacket. "Miss Casey knows all about it, and she won't let anyone tease."

"But…"

"Come on," sighed Rose, taking her good hand. She had Bella's new backpack in her arms—a pink one that Alice had forced on her—and a neat little lunch bag filled with healthy snacks and treats. Bella could no longer take Mr. Sorenson's bus—this new house was too far from the main road—but Esme had promised her that someone would drive her instead.

Today, Rosalie had volunteered.

"School is important, honey," she said again, grabbing her own jacket from the entranceway. Bella could see Alice and Jasper—both whispering secretively in the corner—as they prepared their own schoolbags. Emmett had already left—a fact for which Bella was very thankful—and the Doctor, Carlisle, had left for work before she'd even woken up.

"I know," grumbled Bella, pulling her hand away from Rosalie's. She did not want to go—she did not understand why she had to, now that she lived in this new house—and it made her nervous to know that she did not have a choice. She did not want to feel Rosalie's hand, kind though it was. If she held it for too long, Bella thought that she might miss it too much when it came time to let it go.

Rosalie sighed but walked beside her nonetheless, her eyebrows puckered in a troubled frown.

"In we go," she said, helping Bella into the car seat. Esme waved at her from the front window—Bella did not wave back—and Rosalie clicked the buckle smartly into place.

"You'll have fun," she said, starting the engine of her red car. "You'll see…"

"I _won't_," vowed Bella, her arms crossed. It was hard to do—her cast got in the way—but she was satisfied that her displeasure was known when she saw Rose's lips purse. Rose was silent the whole way down the winding dirt path, and only once she had reached the town limits did she speak again.

"Look," said Rose finally, stopping at a red light. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know you don't want to go…"

"No," said Bella, thinking longingly of the new blue room. She'd barely had any time to play in it—Rosalie had just finished painting a little before bedtime—and until that morning, the paint had still been wet. Instead, she had slept in a room just across the hall—a smaller room with green walls—and the shadows of the trees from the big window had frightened her. She did not like looking out—this room did not have nice curtains like hers did—and the swaying of the trees and the eerie, sinister shadows on the edge of the yard had made her want to hide.

She didn't know exactly how Jasper had known—she hadn't cried out or spoken a word to anyone—but she had only managed to fall asleep when he had come in after twenty minutes of frightened waiting, a small chapter book held tightly in his hand.

He had read her the first two chapters of _Charlotte's Web_, a careful hand running down her back, before her eyes had fallen shut and she'd succumbed to a fitful, restless slumber. She did not know exactly when he had left—he had not been there in the morning when Esme had come to rouse her—but she wished he would have stayed.

Something about Jasper made Bella feel distinctly happy—she was not frightened of him as she had been only a few days ago, and she had thoroughly enjoyed squirming on his lap as he taught her how to read_._

"You'll have a good day," said Rosalie, stepping on the gas when the light turned green. "It'll be fun, and you'll learn all kinds of new things."

Bella, surly, shook her head and stared at the floor. She did not like this new stubbornness in Rose—she had never before forced Bella to do anything she did not want to, and Bella resented the note of authority in her voice.

"I won't," she mumbled, biting her lip to force back tears. She did _not_ want to go… she wanted to stay home, as she had last week, and look at her new books in her new room, with this strange new family that had taken her in…

"You will," said Rosalie again. "You'll have fun once you get there…"

Bella saw the school through the front window and a lump grew in her throat. She wondered if she would cry… she did not_ want_ to do so in front of Rosalie, but sometimes, she had no choice…

"Here we are," said Rose, pulling to a stop at the drop-off spot. Bella stared out at the schoolyard with apprehension… the last time she had been here had been in her daddy's truck. She still had the bruises from that night—if she shifted the sleeves of her shirt, she could still see his handprints. Bella's worries, which had been hidden away over the past few days, peeked their heads out once more.

"I don't want to…" She could not help but scan the yard. She was frightened—her daddy's truck had been sitting right where Rosalie's car was now. If he could be here last week, what was to stop him from being here today?

Rosalie turned off the car and stepped lightly out onto the slick, wet road. Bella refused to undo her seatbelt—she would not leave until she absolutely _had_ to—and flinched when Rosalie cracked the car door open. She crouched beside Bella, her hand resting carefully on her knee, before she spoke.

"I wish you wouldn't cry," she murmured, wiping the lone tear from Bella's cheek. Rose's hand was cold—it always was—and it felt like ice against her flushed face. Jerking away, Bella clenched the seatbelt in a white-knuckled grip.

"I don't want to," she said again. Her eyes flitted out over the groups of kids—all of whom she recognized—before she began to scan the streets. She knew what her daddy's truck looked like—it was big, and rumbly, and dark…

"What's got you so scared?" asked Rose quickly, catching on as she began to gnaw her lip. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing's going to hurt you…"

Bella shook her head, refusing to meet Rose's eye.

"Are you scared of the kids?" asked Rose, glancing out over the crowd of little heads. "They're not so bad…"

"No."

"Miss Casey?" she asked again, one brow quirked. Bella shivered.

"No…"

"Then what?" she asked, unbuckling Bella's belt. Bella was still upset—she was not pleased that Rosalie had brought her here—but when Rose leaned in for a hug, Bella did not turn her away.

Instead, she clung like a little monkey, her legs clamped tightly around Rose's waist.

"Come on," sighed Rose, glancing towards the front door. "I'll take you right through to the classroom…"

When they got there, Miss Casey had not yet arrived. Instead, Bella was seated before Mr. Fergus—the tall, spooky man who gave detentions—and Rose.

"She's doing better…" Bella could hear Rose speaking. "Of course, it's a big overhaul…"

"Naturally," said the man. "We had no idea the extent of it…"

Bella saw Rosalie's eyes narrow, but she smiled anyways and the man didn't notice.

"If you don't mind," said Rose, "I'm going to take a minute to settle her in. She's not thrilled about coming back, and I'd like to get to the bottom of it."

"Of course," said Mr. Fergus. "When you're finished, come and find me. I'll sit with her until Miss Casey arrives."

The man, careful and uncertain, gave Bella a little wave with the ends of his fingers before he closed the classroom door, and Bella plopped her head down on her desk.

She could not keep her eyes off of the window.

"Now, then," said Rose, her lips pursed. She sat in another little chair—the one Lauren always used—and Bella would have laughed if she weren't so downcast.

Bella's eyes flicked to Rose.

"What's got you so worked up?" she asked. "You were such a good girl last night, and you seemed pleased to be coming back…"

Bella shrugged. This was true—she _had_ tried to be a good girl at the Cullens' house—but not even she could keep it up _that_ morning.

"I want to go," she said again, a little spark of hope igniting in her chest. Maybe if she said it enough—begged _hard_ enough—then Rosalie would listen. Bella knew she couldn't sit there all day, though she was sure Miss Casey would be kind to her, knowing that _he_ might be lurking just outside…

"I know, but why?" asked Rose. "You like school."

"Yeah…"

"So?" Rosalie took Bella onto her knee. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I don't want to stay here," said Bella, shaking her head. "I just…"

"You just?"

"I…"

"You can tell me," said Rose. "You can tell me anything that's bothering you."

"I just want to go _home."_ She began to cry. "Can we please go home?"

"I wish we could, honey, but…" Rose looked pained. "It's the law. You have to go to school."

"I'll go to another school," bargained Bella, holding tight to Rose's middle. "Just not this one."

"Is someone bothering you here?" asked Rose again, pulling back to look her in the face. "Is someone being mean to you?"

"No…" _Though Lauren and Jessica weren't exactly _nice…

"Then what?" asked Rose. "We can't help you if we don't know what's wrong, little one."

"What if…" Bella bit her lip. "What if he…"

"If who?"

"What if daddy finds me?" she blurted finally, her face flushing. She wiped angrily at the moisture on her cheeks—she _hated_ crying—but she was quickly drawn into the tight circle of Rose's embrace. Bella could not see her face but her arms had begun to shake, and when her lips pressed a careful kiss to Bella's cheek, Bella thought she could hear a rumble.

Bella wondered if she had made her angry.

"He won't touch you again," she growled. A shiver ran down Bella's spine. "I promise you, honey, he will never lay his hands on you again."

"But…" Bella sniffled. "He knows that I come here."

"He's in prison," said Rosalie at once. "He's locked away behind bars."

"But what if…"

"No," said Rose. "That man has ruined enough. He's not going to ruin your education, too."

Bella did not understand, and shook her little head.

"But he _knows_," she said again, pressing her face to Rose's collar. "He _always_ knows…"

She wondered how badly he would hurt her when he found her, after she had told all his secrets to strangers. She had gone almost five days without his hands on her, and she knew that this could only make it worse when he finally came…

When Rosalie tried to pull away, she began to cry all the harder.

"Hush, sweet girl…" Rose sounded tense. "Don't cry. You're safe…"

"But…" Bella could barely understand her own words. She felt the hiccupping sobs deep in her chest—she could not stop now that she had started—and she knew, deep down, that Rosalie would _not_ take her back home.

"No, no..." murmured Rose. "Please don't cry…"

"I want to go home!" she bawled, her voice cracking. "I want to go _home_!"

Bella saw the principal come back in, though she did not spare him so much as a glance, and when Rose tried to stand, Bella clamped herself tightly around her.

"I've called your father."

Bella wailed, startling both Rose and the principal. Rose had promised that she was safe, yet here was Mr. Fergus—tall, spooky, and mean—announcing plain as day that he had called and tattled to her daddy. He would find her now. He would get her. He would hit her, and smack her, and stick her back in that closet…

"Easy, Bella..." Rosalie sounded astonished. "Hush now, darling... what's the matter?" Even Rose's hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles, did not calm her stormy tears, and Bella's arms began to shake with the force of their hold.

She would _not_ let go.

"You should bring her back home," sighed Mr. Fergus. "She's obviously not ready."

"No," agreed Rose, shaking her head. "She's not. I can't even imagine what she must be thinking…"

Bella clung, her heart racing, as Rosalie collected her backpack.

"Come on, sweetheart," she crooned, and not for the first time, Bella began to feel lightheaded. "We're going home now. We can try again tomorrow…"

Bella did not want to try again, and what little control she had managed to hold onto slipped away.

She bawled the whole way home.

* * *

The rage coursing through Rosalie's entire body was only _just_ tempered by the noisy and desperate voice of the child in the back seat. She could smell her tears—she was crying enough for the both of them—and Rose was growing tense as the girl's fear grew. Alice had warned her, had told her that today's attempt would not be a success, but Rose had not imagined that such a simple thing as a classroom would send the child into hysterics.

_Where was Jasper when you needed him?_

"Hush, sweetheart," said Rose, though her teeth were clenched. The sounds she was making hurt—this was not a mere tantrum or a battle of wills. The child was legitimately afraid—enough that she had lost complete control of herself—and the further she sank into fear and despair, the more anxious Rose became.

By the time they reached the house—only thirty minutes after they had left—Rose was barely able to peel the girl out of her car seat. She had gone limp—her head lolled listlessly against Rose's shoulder as she lifted her out—and even when Esme came out and took her into the house, the child did not perk up.

"Oh, darling…" Esme looked troubled. "Come inside and we'll get to the bottom of this."

Rose stayed outside, her nostrils flared as she fumed with rage. She could not believe what had just happened—she could almost _taste_ the bitter fury on her tongue.

Hadn't that man—the one Bella called _daddy_—done enough damage already? How was it that he managed to hurt her even when he was far, far out of reach? What could that poor child have possibly thinking when Rose, with all her supposed knowledge and goodwill, had plopped her into the back of a car and driven her away from her only safe space?

Rosalie wanted to punch something, and that _something_ came quickly enough when she bolted into the trees, her fist colliding with the trunk of a massive pine.

It snapped with a satisfying crunch_._

"We'll try again tomorrow…" Alice's voice startled Rosalie. She wheeled around to face her sister, angry that she had been found out, yet relieved that there was someone to bear witness to her ire. Rosalie didn't say anything, kicking the fallen tree aside with a flick of her ankle, before she sat angrily on the stump left behind, her head in her hands.

"Don't beat yourself up," sighed Alice. She perched herself next to Rose. "You had no way of knowing she'd be so upset…"

"_You_ knew," glared Rose. _"_You _warned_ me…"

"Yes," sighed Alice, her head resting on Rose's shoulder, "but it's something she's going to have to do…"

"Not so soon," growled Rose. "I should have realized…"

"What?" challenged Alice, her eyebrows raised. "That she would associate school with her father? That was her one safe space… the one place she _wanted_ to be, before we came and stepped in…"

"It's rather obvious," said Rose. "Of course she would be afraid. Charles Swan has no idea where our house is—and we're all there to protect her if he ever figured it out—but she's got no one at the school."

"No," agreed Alice. "Her teacher cares, but…"

Rosalie picked a splinter out of her shoe.

"What do we do, then?" she asked. "If she's so scared she can't even set foot inside…"

"Move slowly," said Alice, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "She's not your average child, and we're going to have to set reasonable expectations for her."

Rosalie remained silent. Slowly, but surely, the rage was beginning to leech out… she knew she would have to get a handle on it sooner or later. It was not healthy to expose Bella to such fury, even if it wasn't directed at her, especially not if they were trying to foster a positive and healthy home…

"We'll try again tomorrow," said Alice calmly. "She won't be ready then either—no, don't interrupt..." Rose had opened her mouth to protest. "But it's imperative that we _try."_

"Why?" growled Rose. She did not want the girl to suffer any more than she already had—surely if Alice could see that it would be of no use, then there was no reason to push…

"Because on Wednesday, she'll stay," said Alice quietly, taking Rose's hand. "She'll fail twice, but on that third day, she'll do better."

"I don't think I can do that again," said Rose. Even before the crying had started, Rose had been in half a mind to turn the car around and run back home. She did not have it in her to force the girl—she could not stand to hear her cry—and she knew that if it happened again tomorrow, she would make promises she couldn't keep.

"No," agreed Alice, "you can't. That's why Carlisle is going to bring her. She'll see her teacher, too, and that will help a little for Wednesday."

Rose sighed. She did not like the thought of asking her to try again—though she knew it was necessary—but she trusted her father enough to know when the child had reached her limit. Carlisle would not push her any further than she was capable of going, and she knew that he would take care of her when she inevitably broke down again.

"Come on back to the house," nudged Alice, poking Rose in the side. "Bella might get a day off, but the rest of us don't."

"I can't just leave her after _that,"_ said Rose, scandalized. "She's upset…"

"Yes, she is," agreed Alice. If they listened hard enough, they could hear the sounds of her crying from the house. "But mom is home with her, and we've already missed first period."

"I can't Alice…" Her cries were like a beacon. Rose could not ignore them.

"You have to," said Alice firmly, a sudden hardness seeping into her voice. "We're supposed to be teenagers, Rose, and we can't go missing a bunch of classes."

"Screw that…"

"No," said Alice again. "It's important, Rose. If you want to stay in this town, then we have to keep up appearances."

Rose wanted to bite back. She wanted to spew off any number of reasonable and quick-witted remarks about how she _didn't_ want to stay in this town, how she had never _asked_ to come here in the first place, but all of this was overtaken by a big, bitter realization…

If they did not stay, then Bella would have to go.

"Come on," said Alice again. "She'll be alright by the time we get home, and it'll give Esme a chance to mother her a little bit."

The envy that bloomed in Rose's heart, even as she piled sulkily into the back of Alice's Porsche, was almost palpable.

* * *

By the time Wednesday rolled around, Rosalie was beginning to wonder which of them was most nervous for the start of the school day—Bella or herself. The last two days had been rough—it had taken a toll on everyone in the family—and the sad sound of tears and pleading had rung out from the big blue bedroom until well past midnight the night before.

"_I don't want to…" s_he had begged, her voice rough and hoarse. Esme was sitting with her, trying to soothe her back to sleep, but the child was steadfastly and stubbornly awake.

"_Hush now, darling…" Even when she was upset, Esme sounded kind. "Just lay your head down and rest your eyes. It's very late."_

"_But…" Even Emmett was wincing. The sound of her upset—of her abstract and nebulous fear—was difficult to listen to. "I don't _want _to!"_

"_Shh…" They heard Esme coaxing her down. "You're safe, darling. Nothing at school is going to hurt you…"_

"_Daddy will!" she wailed, and the tears, which had so recently abated, started back up. "Mr. Fergus _called_ him!" This one confusing detail—one that had taken Rose nearly ten minutes to sort out—had been the source of the child's anxiety all day according to their mother. Rose and Esme had both tried to explain it to her—that Mr. Fergus had called _Carlisle, _not _Charlie—_but her little mind had been made up._

_Jasper prowled up the stairs._

"_Enough is enough," _he had grumbled, his face terse. _"She needs to sleep."_

When he had gone into the room, finding the child on the brink of hysterics once more, he had quickly and gently urged her back onto her pillows, siphoning off the anxiety that was rolling off of her in waves. Jasper did not like to do it—he wanted her to learn to control it on her own—but even he knew that there was a point when it was too much for her to handle.

So this morning, as she sat stiffly across from Carlisle at the breakfast table, Rose was surprised to see that, as Alice had predicted, she was relatively calm and collected. She was not crying—not even her little lip was quivering—and she was eating her Cheerios with robotic steadiness. Carlisle was not really reading—the newspaper was just for show—and he watched her over the edge to make sure she would finish her meal. She even drank the milk, slurping it noisily from the rim of the bowl, before she marched it over to the sink and placed it carefully in the basin.

"That's fine, sweetheart," said Carlisle as she began to fidget. "Thank you for tidying up. Are you ready to leave?"

"I guess so…" Her voice had begun to shake. "Are you _sure_ he's not gonna come?"

"Positive," said Carlisle at once, rising to his feet. "You remember what we talked about yesterday? When we were with Miss Casey?"

"Yes," said Bella. She shuffled her schoolbag onto her back. "I remember."

Rosalie had not heard the details of the conversation. She had only learned what the teacher had told her when Bella had begun spouting off about _safety procedures_ and _locked doors._

"Excellent," smiled Carlisle. "Come along, then. We'll go to school for the day, and I'll pick you up on my way home from work."

"Promise?" Her little face was anxious.

"I promise," vowed Carlisle. "Now go and say goodbye to the others. And don't forget your running shoes."

"Okay…" Rosalie jumped into action then—the little patter of feet was fast approaching and she quickly busied herself at the mirror at the bottom of the staircase. When Bella saw her she bit her lip, reaching out hesitant arms for a hug.

She had been embarrassed by her display on Monday morning—Bella had reluctantly told her as much—though Rose had been sure to keep a smile plastered on her face when Bella had stammered out her awkward, nervous apology.

"Ready to go?" asked Rose, kneeling down before her. She was still anxious—the colour was high on her cheeks and there was no toothy grin on her face—but she nodded anyways, taking a deep breath.

"Yes," she said. "I think I'm ready."

"Excellent." Rose pressed an impulsive kiss to her cheek that earned her a halfhearted smile. "Try and have some fun."

Bella brought her shoulder up to her ear—a nervous habit she had developed—and gave Rose a quick, one-armed hug.

"I will."

"Ready?" Carlisle was waiting by the door. Bella said a quick goodbye to Esme—their last two days together had made Bella quite fond of her new mother—and a general wave for the rest of the group sufficed as she trailed slowly after Carlisle, clambering into the back of his Mercedes.

"She'll do fine, Rose…" said Alice at once, taking note of Jasper's whispered warning. Rose was uncharacteristically nervous—she was afraid for the girl, lest she have another meltdown at school, and it was showing on her face.

She accepted Jasper's calm without so much as a smile, relaxing only slightly when the very worst imaginings were driven from her mind.

"What do you see?" asked Rose quietly, facing her sister once the car had driven out of sight. "Look and see if you can find her…"

Even with the child in their home, living among them, Alice still had a hard time interpreting visions that included Bella. Considering her knowledge of the girl had been so clear before they had met, it was odd for Alice to be so blind. Never before had she experienced such difficulty pinning down someone she was close to, but then again, Alice had never had the chance to grow very close to a human. She described it like an old television set—she could see the fuzzy outlines, shapeless figures dancing across the screen, but the quality was poor and the sound was muffled.

"I think she'll be alright," said Alice, her face screwed up. "I see her smiling, at least, and I see her coming outside once the bell rings…"

Rosalie bit her lip.

"That's it," she said. "She'll come outside at the bell, and she's smiling."

"Well that's…" Rosalie grimaced, "something, I suppose."

"I'm sorry," sighed Alice, leaning back against Jasper. "I wish I could see more."

"As long as she's okay," said Rose. Maybe Alice would be right… maybe today really was the day that she faced her fears, and came to understand that she was finally safe…

When the house phone rang—something that rarely ever happened—it was Rosalie who reached a blind hand to pick it up.

"Cullen residence," she barked, uncharacteristically sharp. The only people who called this line were telemarketers and sometimes, school officials—not even the hospital had Carlisle's home number.

"Yes, hello…" It was the voice of a woman. "May I please speak with Doctor or Mrs. Cullen?"

Everyone in the room could hear—even Esme, who sat at the other end—and she had the handset to her ear before Rosalie had the chance to respond.

"This is Esme," she said, her brow furrowed. "Who is this?"

_"Yes ma'am,"_ said the woman. _"This is Shirelle Williams, from the Child Services office."_

"Oh, yes…" Everyone's head turned to swivel around. "What can I do for you?"

_"I'm just calling with an update on Isabella's case,"_ said the woman. Rose did not miss the hesitation in her voice—she sounded uncomfortable. Had she been standing before them, Rose would have dismissed this as a reaction to their kind—humans were rarely at ease when they were around her family—but as she could not _see_ them…

"Yes?" asked Esme. "What is it? Carlisle has just left to bring Bella to school."

_"The school has already been informed,"_ said the woman quickly. Rosalie's eyes narrowed._ "But…"_

"Yes?" Esme's voice had lost it sugary sweetness. "What's wrong?"

_"Charles Swan made bail last night."_

Rose could have heard a pin drop.

"Excuse me?" Esme spoke before Shirelle could break the silence. "Where is he?"

_"He's back at his home, as far as we know,"_ said Shirelle._ "He has round the clock supervision—there's a unit keeping tabs on his vehicle—and he's been instructed to stay away from the school, your home, and anywhere else the child might frequent."_

Rosalie could taste her rage—not even Jasper's urgent waves of calm could keep her still. She began to pace, Emmett's anxious gaze fixed on her, as the social worker continued to speak.

"What does that mean for us?" demanded Esme, her voice low. "If he comes back…"

_"He's under orders,"_ said the woman again. _"He's been told that she's out of his care, and he knows that he's not to go near her."_

"Is there an order of protection?" Esme was livid. "Has something been done through the courts to protect that child?"

_"She's in care,"_ said Shirelle quickly, _"and her father has been warned."_

"Warned," snorted Esme. "What does that even mean, _warned?"_

_"It means that he knows the child is no longer under his care,"_ said Shirelle again. _"He's aware that she's in the custody of the state, and he knows that it's in everyone's best interest to stay away. He's retained a lawyer and counsel has advised him to keep his distance for now."_

"Thank you, Miss Williams." Esme spoke curtly. "If that's all, I'll let you go. I need to phone my husband."

_"Mrs. Cullen…"_

"Goodbye," said Esme. "Please call if there's anything else you need."

_"Ma'am…"_

Esme hung up the phone before the woman could say another word.

"I'll tear him apart," growled Emmett, just as soon as the call was ended. "I'll rip him into tiny, minuscule pieces, and no one will ever know…"

"Your father would never approve," frowned Esme. "He would never condone violence."

"I don't give a damn what Carlisle wants!" shouted Rose, her ire bubbling over. "How _dare_ he? How dare _they_…"

"Hush, Rosalie," scolded Esme. "I'm trying to think."

"Here's dad," said Alice softly. She had her cell phone held to her ear. "Here, Carlisle…"

The rush of voices that tried to speak over Esme as she explained to Carlisle what they had just learned forced her to turn around, her hand cupping the phone.

"I'll take his head off!"

"Just calm down and think it through."

"I don't _see_ anything…"

"I swear, no one will know."

"Please, let's just _think…"_

"Quiet!" barked Esme. "You'd think you were all _actual_ children. Your father is on his way home. We'll talk about it when he gets here."

"He's not going to touch her," said Rose at once, her thoughts vicious. Each time she thought about him—each time his greasy, sour face formed in her mind's eye—she felt that brazen, vicious animal inside her rise to attention. That part wanted vengeance—wanted to tear him limb from limb as her husband had suggested—and watch him suffer in the way he'd made _her_ suffer. She did not know how a beast like him had been let loose—hadn't the authorities seen the horrors he had inflicted on his own child? Hadn't they combed through his house from top to bottom searching for clues and evidence? What had the hospital examination—that horrible, gut-wrenching confusion they'd inflicted on that poor child—been for, if not to convict him?

Rosalie had been so sure he would be locked away—she hadn't even _anticipated_ that he might be let loose.

"No, Rose, he won't," said Esme darkly, her eyes almost black. "You're right about that. But we're not going to do _anything _until your father gets here. Bella is safe at school—they have all the precautions in place—and he will not lay so much as a finger on her while she's under my roof."

Rose had never heard Esme so harsh—she was always such a gentle, sweet-spoken person that it almost made Rose pause.

"None of us would ever let that happen," said Jasper, his eyes fixed on his sister. "We're responsible for her, and we owe it to her to make sure that monster can't hurt her."

"He _won't_ hurt her!" growled Rose. "He's not even going to get the chance to _try!"_

"I…"

"Please…"

"He won't…"

"I can't _see…"_

"Everyone, enough!" shouted Esme again, her hand raised to command silence. "Sit down. Bella is safe at school, and your father is on his way…"

_Ring!_

"Oh, what now?" barked Alice, suddenly frustrated. "I can't see _anything _this woman does!"

"Hush, Alice… Hello?"

The tension in the room, though still present, dissipated when they heard the familiar voice on the other end.

"_Hello, mom."_

"Edward," breathed Esme, a small smile breaking through. "How are you?"

"_I'm just checking in," _he said. _"Like I promised I would…"_

His voice trailed off, and though Esme waited, he did not continue.

"But?"

"_Nothing," _said Edward._ "I'm doing well. I've spent some time with Carmen and Eleazar, but you…"_

Esme remained silent.

"_You sound tense. How's the girl?" _he asked finally. _"I haven't spoken to you since she arrived."_

"Well enough," said Esme. "We've hit a little snag this morning, but all is well."

"_Snag?"_ Rose recognized the worry in her brother's voice. She had never quite gotten along with Edward—he was too principled and stoic, and she was too impulsive and temperamental—but whatever his faults, he was loyal to his family. And whether he liked it or not, this girl had become a part of that family…

"Yes, you see…" Esme explained the call they had just received. Edward said nothing—a rarity for him—until Esme had finished, and Carlisle, hearing the tail end of the conversation, remained silent as he walked through the door.

"_You think he's going to try?"_ asked Edward darkly. Rose could almost see the scowl on his face—she knew Edward too well to think anything else—and she knew the long silence in the wake of his question would frustrate him. He was so used to being physically present... he was not accustomed to his family's silent thoughts.

"We don't know," admitted Esme finally, shaking her head. "I'd like to say no, but he's not exactly a rational man…"

"No," agreed Carlisle. "He's not. I went by the house on my way home—I hid in the trees, so as not to be seen—and what the woman said is true. He's back home, and he sounded none too pleased…"

"_Someone should monitor the school," _said Edward at once. _"If you think she's in danger."_

"We don't know what his plans are, Edward. We have no idea what's going through his mind." Rose grimaced. She understood what her father was implying—she knew Edward's singular gift would give them an advantage should Charles Swan try and make contact, but she also knew that Edward wanted nothing to do with the girl.

"_It would," _agreed Edward. The others were silent, listening closely to the tinny telephone, until Carlisle spoke again.

"We could use you, son," he said, gently taking the phone from Esme. "I know you want to keep your distance, and I respect that, but…"

"_But this is a family matter," _finished Edward. Rose could almost see the way he would be pinching his nose. Her brother had always been set in his ways—he disliked change almost as much he loathed incivility, and the way this child had been treated was one of the highest forms of incivility that Rose had ever witnessed. She could almost see the battle that would be going on in his mind—he could return, thus nullifying the whole childish protest he'd mounted in response to Bella's arrival, or he could stay away, turning his back on the family who needed him…

"And you're a part of this family," said Carlisle. "I can't force you—I'd never even try—but you would be doing us a great service if you came home."

Esme was biting her lip—she did not like having her family divided, and Rose knew that her mother believed, with everything she had, that once Edward laid eyes on the child, he would come to appreciate her just as the rest of them had.

"_If it means that much to you," _began Edward, _"then I suppose I can take some time to come down. I can't guarantee I'll stay, mind you…"_

"No," agreed Carlisle. "That's your choice, Edward. But you should meet each other. And we need to know what Charles Swan's intentions are. If he has anything unsavory planned for her…"

"_I understand."_ Edward's voice cut in. _"I'll make my arrangements and call again when I have the details."_

"Thank you," said Esme, her ear pressed close to Carlisle's. "You'll love her, Edward, I know you will…"

"_We'll see, mom," _he sighed._ "Say hello to everyone else. I'll go back to the house and see what I can do…"_

"Thank you, son." Carlisle had always held a particular soft spot for Edward—something that still baffled Rose from time to time—but she could not hold it against him when her brother was coming to help.

Rosalie, for once in her life, felt grateful for his gift. With her brother in the mix, she knew that it was only a matter of time before they figured out just what it was that Charles Swan had planned.

* * *

It was two in the afternoon when they got the call.

School long forgotten, Rosalie sat with Emmett on the veranda outside, her head resting carefully against his shoulder. This past week had seemed like a whirlwind—Rose had not had any time to devote to her husband—and until they had found this quick, quiet moment to sneak away, she hadn't realized what she had been missing. Emmett had always been her rock—a voice of reason when she was upset, or a source of strength when she needed a boost. She hadn't realized how she had neglected him—though he would never hold it against her—but she could tell by the way he held her tightly in his arms that he had missed her. Emmett was a good man—a kind man through and through—and she could tell by the complacent smile on his face, that he was happy.

"This is nice," he said finally, leaning back. She went with him, her back against his chest, as he rested against one of the wooden supports on the veranda. They could hear their family in the house—Jasper was with Carlisle and Esme in the dining room, making plans to ensure the child's safety, while Alice, alone on the sofa, sat lost in visions.

She was determined to see how things would turn out, and after an hour of seeing her struggle, Jasper could no longer stand to watch.

"It is," she sighed. Her mind had been so wrapped up in planning—it had only been twenty minutes since she'd removed herself from the dining table—and when Emmett had taken her hand to lead her silently outside, she had not protested. She had expected him to bring her to the woods—they always enjoyed a good run—but instead, he had settled her down on the damp porch to stare quietly out at the front lawn, the rain pattering noisily on the shingled roof.

He began to play with her hair.

"I'm going to make her like me, you know," he said suddenly, his voice no louder than a whisper. "I know you've all got her wrapped around your fingers, but I'll work my way in there, too…"

"I don't doubt it," chuckled Rose. She knew how much it bothered him—he was almost desperate to earn her affection—but it seemed like Bella was purposefully avoiding him. She would not look at him, would not engage with him, and would scamper away, wide-eyed, whenever he got too close.

"Someday soon," vowed Emmett, "she'll love me just like she loves the rest of you."

Rosalie did not argue—this was the truth. She knew that once Bella got to know Emmett—once she got past the tough, mean-looking exterior—she would be thrilled by the big, playful lug that lurked beneath the surface. Rosalie had already caught him making plans—looking up amusement parks, Chuck E. Cheese franchises, toy stores, carnivals, festivals, circuses…

As far as Emmett was concerned, he finally had someone to share in his love of fun. All he had to do was crack that frightened armor she had put up, but once he did…

"We're going to have the best time," he vowed, grinning. His joy was contagious. "We'll do all of that stuff that no one else wants to do…"

"You'll have to be gentle with her," warned Rose. "Especially while she's still young. When she's a bit older, maybe…"

"Aw, I'm not gonna break her, babe," he laughed. "I want her to _like _me, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah…" chuckled Rose. "But remember. She's still little."

"Not _too_ little," grinned Emmett. "Soon enough, once she's over this timid phase, we'll find some mischief…"

Rose groaned. The more he spoke, the more she began to wonder just how badly her husband would corrupt the poor child.

"You've got to win her over first," said Rose, sitting up straight. "And anything you do that's over the top has to be vetted by Carlisle or Esme. They're the ones on the paperwork, after all…"

"I can be _very_ persuasive," he growled, a wry smirk on his face. "It's been too long… give me about ten minutes, and I can show you just how _persuasive_ I can be." His hands tickled up her sides…

"Ew, stop it!" Alice's squeal made him turn. Her little face shone out from the window, her knuckles rapping a hard rhythm against the glass. "You guys are screwing up my visions… _literally."_

Emmett, unable to help it, laughed out loud—he never minded an audience—but Rose smacked his chest, rolling her eyes.

"Rein it in," she advised, taking his wandering hands firmly in hers. Emmett was amused—there was very little he did not find funny—but he gave Alice a quick nod, settling back down.

"If she wasn't looking for little Bell, I might just do some more_ screwing around_," he murmured, his lips against her ear.

"But she _is,"_ laughed Rose, shoving him away. "We can play later."

"Fair enough…"

The ring of the telephone made everyone freeze.

"What now?" grumbled Emmett, his playful mood squashed almost at once. "That had better not be that social worker…"

Emmett was developing a very strong dislike for Shirelle Williams. Rose knew he did not like seeing his wife upset—which happened almost every time Rose saw her—but add that to the fact that she was interfering with the child…

"Cullen residence." Carlisle's voice was loud and commanding. "Can I help you?"

_"Yes sir…" _A man. _"I'm calling from the elementary school here in Forks…"_

Rose was inside at once, Emmett hot on her heels. She stood so close to Carlisle that he was forced to take a step back, his eyes narrowed in warning as he listened.

"Yes?" asked Carlisle. "Is Bella alright?"

"_Oh, yes…" _The man sounded afraid. _"Isabella is fine. She's in class at the moment. But…"_

"But?"

"_But there's a man waiting by the gate. We've called the police to come and remove him, but we'd like to get Isabella out safely, if we can."_

"What man?" Carlisle's voice was a growl. Rosalie could barely believe her ears. "Is it her father?"

"_Um, yes."_ Rosalie snarled. _"Yes, Charles Swan is waiting outside the yard. He's not doing anything,"_ the man spoke quickly, _"but we've received notification that Isabella is not to have contact."_

"Under no circumstances are you to let that child see him," said Carlisle, his angry face contorted. "Do you understand me? Under _no_ circumstances."

"_Yes sir."_ Rose thought it might be the principal speaking. _"I understand, but…"_

"But _nothing._ I'll be there in a few minutes to collect her. Do _not_ let her see him."

"_We'll do our best."_

Carlisle snarled, tossing the phone at Esme. Esme, startled, caught it up and began to take over, but Rosalie, nearly spitting with rage, chased after her father.

"I'm gonna tear him a new one," snarled Emmett, trailing out behind his wife. "What right does he have…?"

"None," growled Carlisle. Alice's anxious face was staring out from the window again. "None at all. Hurry up and get in. And call that social worker while I'm driving."

He threw the phone at Rose.

"Gladly," she spat, dialling the number she'd memorized from the business card. "I'll let her have it…"

"Give it here, babe," said Emmett urgently, coaxing the phone away from her. Rose's irritation spiked—how dare he treat her like a child?—but when she saw the nervous frown on Carlisle's face, she understood.

She could not go off on the social worker, no matter how badly she might want to.

By the time they got to the school, Emmett had already hung up the phone. The woman had not been in—he had left a terse and angry voicemail—and as Carlisle crept into the parking lot, Rose's eyes immediately honed in on the skulking figure of a man by the corner of the yard.

"Don't engage him," said Carlisle at once, his eyes fixed on the man as well. "You and Emmett go inside and get the girl. I'll handle Charles."

Rose did not need telling twice—as much as she wanted to tear into him, she knew that any misstep on her part could lead to disaster. If she tore his throat out, as she was so desperate to do, the police would get involved, and Bella would be taken from their care faster than she could blink.

She would not risk it. Her anger was not worth that child's misery.

"Let's go," growled Emmett, his eyes flicking between the door and their father, who was stalking purposefully towards the man. "Let's go get her, babe…"

Rose rang the buzzer at the front of the school—Bella had not been mistaken when she said the doors would be locked—and the voice of the principal rang through.

"Rosalie and Emmett Cullen. We're here for Bella. Our father is just outside, trying to get Charles to leave…"

The doors clicked, and the pair stepped through.

"Rosalie!" Bella's chipper voice—a far cry from the tears and anxiety of the day before—rang out from a chair by the front entrance. Someone had already dressed her—she had her jacket zipped up and her light-up running shoes laced tight. She had been kicking her feet, impatient and confused, until Rose and Emmett had stepped inside, and as fast as she could, she had her arms wrapped around Rose's middle.

"You came to get me!" she beamed. "But the bell didn't ring..."

"Change of plans, little one," laughed Rose. "Carlisle came early for you. He's just dealing with some business outside, and then he'll come and sign you out."

Rose knew that for any child to leave early, a parent or guardian had to sign at the front desk.

"Oh, okay." Her eyes flickered cautiously to Emmett. "What's _he_ doing here?"

Her whisper, intended only for Rosalie's ears, was loud enough for both Emmett and the secretary to hear. The secretary ignored it—focused intently on a stack of paperwork at her desk—but Emmett pursed his lips, suppressing a laugh.

"I'm here because I wanted to say hello," he said

Bella stared, blinking, before she shrugged, reaching up on tiptoe to hug Rose's waist again. Rose was glad she was happy to see her—it had been a rocky few days after that first meltdown on Monday—and the two of them sat carefully in the row of chairs, neither one speaking.

Rose was glad Emmett had come when he sat in the chair nearest the doors, blocking Bella's view of the outside, where they could hear Carlisle's angry words to Charles Swan.

"_You have no business stalking around her school."_ Both Emmett and Rosalie could hear the venom in their father's voice. _"She's frightened enough as it is. Don't make it worse for her."_

"_She's _my_ kid. You can play daddy all you want, but at the end of the day, she's_ mine._ And I want what I'm due."_

"_She's a child, not a possession," _Carlisle barked. Rose kept her smile plastered in place, listening only halfheartedly as Bella began to talk about an art project she'd begun. It was Emmett who commented when she showed them her newly-graffitied cast—the kids had evidently signed it after all—and for the first time, she did not shy away when he smiled at her.

"_She's _mine!" Charles was starting to shout. _"You came into _my_ house, and took _my_ kid…"_

"_I came into your house as a medical first responder." _Carlisle was disgusted. _"I took that child to the ambulance, and tended to the wounds _you_ inflicted…"_

"_How I discipline my brat is none of your business."_

"_You broke her arm," _snapped Carlisle, all pretense of decorum slipping away_. "You snapped her bone right in two. That's not discipline, that's abuse. Get yourself out of here before you get rearrested."_

"_Sir?" _Rosalie saw the uniformed officer walking slowly towards the pair. _"Sir, you shouldn't be here…"_

"_This is a free country!" _Charles shouted so loud that even Bella perked up, her brows furrowed.

"Hey!" Emmett spoke cheerfully over the din outside. "Why don't you tell me all the names on your cast? I see one there…"

Bella, still suspicious, cautiously began to rattle off names to match the scribbles on her arm. Each time Charles raised his voice, Emmett exclaimed in feigned excitement, earning little, cautious grins from Bella when he did.

Rose was glad to see the ice melting between them—it would do them both good—but she could not focus on anything other than the weight of the child in her lap, and the sound of raised voices from outside.

"_Sir, follow me…"_

"_Fuck off!"_

"_I can't bring her out of that school until he's gone."_

"_She's _my _kid! _Mine!"

"_Sir, that's enough. This is a school zone…"_

"_I'm a grown man! Get your fucking hands off of me!"_

"_Sir…"_

"_Get him out of here." _Rose knew Carlisle was done. _"That child is under_ my_ guardianship, and I'm not going to say it again. If I see him anywhere near her, I'll have him charged with harassment. He has no business lurking_ anywhere_ near her, and I won't be as civil if I catch him at it again."_

Rose wished her father would just finish him off and be done with it, cop be damned.

"_I understand," _said the officer. _"Sir, come along…"_

"_Fucking animals!" _Charles was enraged. _"That's_ my_ kid!"_

"_Save it for the courts."_

"_She's mine! Isabella!"_

"Show me your classroom!" said Emmett suddenly, blocking the view of the door with his arm when Bella heard her name. There was a quirk between her brows—Rose prayed that she would not recognize the voice—but she gave a careful shrug and slipped from Rose's lap, turning down the hallway.

"You can't…"

One glare from Rose silenced the secretary, who took one anxious look towards the front parking lot and grimaced.

"Go on, sweetheart. Show him." Rose took her by the hand. Bella stood closer to Emmett than she had before—though still not as close as she did to Rose—and walked towards the closed door of her first grade classroom.

"They're doing reading," said Bella wistfully, glancing up at the small window that was too high for her to peer through. "That's why the door's closed. But that's my room."

"Very nice…"

"Let's go."

All three of them turned towards the voice at the door. Carlisle's hair was disheveled—it looked as if he had run his hands through it—and his eyes were dark and glowering. Bella cowered so Rose was quick to scoop her up, and Emmett glanced carefully through the windows before following their father outside.

"Get in, get in…" Carlisle sounded rushed. "Quickly. They're holding him, but they have no legal grounds…"

"Who?" chirped Bella, her eyes raking the parking lot. "Who's being held?"

"No one, darling," said Carlisle. "Never mind. Buckle up and we'll be on our way. Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah…" Bella stared carefully through the back window. "I did some math, and we did more animals…"

"Hm…"

"And my cast got some names on it."

"Wonderful…"

Carlisle sped around the corner so fast, tearing away from the school with such gusto, that Bella didn't notice the angry man shouting her name from the dark pickup truck.


	17. Chapter 17

Charles Swan would not leave the girl alone.

Like a leech that stuck to the bottom of your foot at the beach, or a pesky housefly that buzzed in through the only open window of your house, Charles Swan lurked on the edges of Bella's life. The man was a buzzard—of that, Rosalie was convinced. He loomed over her, even when she could not see him, and circled round and round to eye his prey. He was everywhere and nowhere—an omnipresent threat that hovered over the child even in the places where she should have felt safe. He was at her school almost every day—Carlisle had banned Rosalie from the premises after a particularly nasty shouting match the week before—and on their last hunting trip, she had caught the scent of him in the trees near their home. There could be no mistake: Charles Swan was a menace, never more so than when he was terrorizing his little daughter, and he was a nuisance that Rosalie was all too eager to blot out.

"You can't, Rosalie," sighed Carlisle, shaking his head. "You cannot simply _kill_ him…"

"He's a threat!" Rose was pacing around her father's study. She had brought this up numerous times, but her father was stubborn and principled.

"He's not a threat," said Carlisle. "He's bothersome, I agree, but he can't hurt us."

"He can hurt _her,"_ growled Rose. "What about that?"

"Not while she's under my watch," said Carlisle. "If she comes into danger, then we'll have to act. But until then…"

"He's abusive, and he's a predator," snarled Rose, slamming her fists down on Carlisle's desk. She felt the wood give way under her hands. "He's a violent man, Carlisle…"

"I know." He cupped her hands in his—she knew he would be upset about the desk. "But he's not a _threat,_ Rose. Bella is _safe."_

"What about when Edward comes and sees what he's thinking?" she argued. "What then? Will you stand so high and mighty when he's over there, fantasizing about doing _God_ knows what…"

"Rose…" Carlisle was growing impatient. "You cannot kill her father."

"Why not?"

"He's been in the news," Carlisle began, counting off on his fingers. "He's under constant police supervision, he's become a notorious member of the community, everybody from the local barhops to little old ladies who live on his street have their eye on him…"

"I'll make it look like an accident," she promised. "No one would ever know."

"And just what kind of accident are you planning?" asked Carlisle, tense. "A hunting accident? The man has no gun. A driving accident? His license has been suspended."

"Any kind," scoffed Rosalie. "He fishes. I could drown him in the lake."

"That's grim, even for you." Carlisle's face was contorted.

"He's going to _hurt_ her."

"No he's not!" Carlisle stood, turning his back to her. "I know you feel strongly, but that little girl downstairs is _safe."_

"In body, maybe," Rose conceded, "but what about in mind?"

"She's getting better."

"You were there, Carlisle…" Her mind flashed to the events of Friday night. It had been the eve of what was supposed be a joyful weekend—Bella's third with their family. As usual, Carlisle had gone to pick her up from school—he always showed up early in hopes of avoiding the girl's father. But just as they'd expected Charles had been there anyways, lurking just beyond the boundary of the school property. He had lost his job after his arrest, and had plenty of time to stalk his daughter while she tried to learn.

But this time, he had been smart. This time, he had not waited by the fence while Carlisle collected the girl. Instead, he had been waiting just outside the doors when she'd come outside...

The tears and the tantrum that had ensued after Bella had caught sight of him had nearly driven Rosalie mad. She had seen red—she could barely listen when Carlisle had tried to explain what had happened—and she had been halfway to Charles Swan's house before her brother and husband had tackled her to the ground in the woods.

"_Stop it, Rosalie!" _Jasper had pleaded._ "For the love of God, stop!"_

"_Babe, come on..." _Emmett had lifted her off the ground_. "Shush… let's go and think about this before we react rashly…"_

Rose had sunk her teeth into the both of them before Jasper had accosted her with a wall of lethargy so potent that Emmett had been forced to scoop her up and carry her back home.

Her brother had barely spoken to her for two days afterwards, nursing the sore, festering wound with resentful displeasure.

"I was," agreed Carlisle, recalling her to the present. "And if you'll remember, it was _I _who had to carry that poor child home. I nearly had to sedate her…"

Rosalie grimaced. She had been there too.

"But that does not justify murder," he said finally, turning to face her once again. "Do you understand why I'm saying no?"

"Not at all," glowered Rose. "I see a threat to a child—_our_ collective child, Carlisle—and you're more concerned with the safety of her abuser than the soundness of her mind!"

Rosalie knew she had pushed too far when Carlisle's eyes flashed, the change so abrupt and unfamiliar that she took a quick step back. Jasper was in the doorway now—no doubt sent by Alice to temper the bubbling rage in the room—but not before Carlisle's face came within inches of Rosalie's.

"Don't you _ever_," Rose flinched, "accuse me of something like _that."_ He took an angry breath. "How _dare_ you stand there, accusing me…"

When he backed up, barking a sarcastic laugh, Rose felt her knees shake. Her father was never angry—especially not at _her_—and there was a strange and unfamiliar fear coursing through her that she had never felt before. Carlisle was calm. Carlisle was reasonable. Carlisle was collected…

"I will not risk this family's reputation because of your fascination with revenge," he said finally, his nostrils flared. "We have worked too hard for too long to develop our sense of worth, and I will not have that destroyed."

Rosalie glared, though the fire had gone out. Jasper continued to hover by the door, his eyes glued intently on their father.

"We are _not_ killers, Rosalie," he said finally. Rose was relieved—some of the liquid gold had seeped back in to his eyes, and she could see a hint of the gentle, compassionate man she had known all her life. It was so rare for Carlisle to lose control, to free the inner beast that they had all struggled to master, that Rosalie did not know what to say.

"He's not…"

"He's human," interrupted Carlisle. "Just like his little daughter downstairs."

Rose could hear Bella laughing as she cooked dinner with Esme, stirring a pot of something that smelled suspiciously like garlic.

"So what?" Rose spoke lowly. "He's human. But so what? He's a monster…"

"Yes, he is." Carlisle was once again staring. "But we're_ not."_

Jasper stepped inside.

"Let it go, Rosalie," he murmured. "Dad's right."

"He's _not."_

"How many lives have _you_ taken?" demanded Jasper, his voice intense but with none of the rage that seemed to have consumed their father. "How many people have _you_ watched suffer?"

"Seven," growled Rosalie, her lip curled. "Seven, Jasper, and I did it all on my own..."

"Do you know how many I've taken?" he asked. "Hundreds. Maybe even _thousands…"_

"But none of them were…"

"Some of them were worse men than Charles Swan could ever hope to be. Some of them were murderers themselves. Or rapists. Or abusers…"

"Exactly!"

"But none of that mattered in the end," said Jasper softly. "None of it, Rosalie. If we kill that child's father, then we are no better than _he_ is."

"Excuse me?"

"Why are you so angry with him?" asked Jasper, his eyebrows raised. "Indulge me."

"You _know _why!" Rose was frustrated. "You saw firsthand what he did to that little girl downstairs…"

Bella laughed again and Rose relished her giggles. She knew, however—no matter how much she wished it weren't so—that just under the surface of her smiling face and bubbling laugh was a mire of trouble that had yet to be navigated. Much of it would come with time, she knew, and some might never fully heal… that girl would carry her father's scars for the rest of her life.

"Yes, exactly," said Jasper. He took her hands in his. "Exactly, Rose… look at what he did to her. He's bigger than her. More powerful than her. Has more life experience, and more understanding of what he was doing…"

Rose began to feel sad, and she fixed her eyes accusingly on her brother.

She had not felt it all at once, and she knew that Jasper had not intended her to. She recognized the sensation of fabricated emotion—she had grown familiar with the sudden intrusion that told her that her feelings were not her own—but as she concentrated on a lurking despair deep in her chest, she began to realize that it did not originate from _her_.

"Stop it," she snapped, pulling her hands back. The sensation dulled, but it did not go away. "What are you doing, Jasper?"

"I'm showing you why you can't," he said softly. "I'm showing you why dad is right."

"You, of all people…"

"I know what it feels like!" he said suddenly, his voice anguished. "I know better than any of you what it feels like to become something you _hate!"_

The sensation was crushing, and Rose backed away.

"Enough!" she snapped. "That's enough, Jasper…"

"I don't ever want this for you," he said quietly, shaking his head as he reeled his gift back in. Rose felt the crushing despair begin to ebb, leaving the dull ache of sadness in its place. If she were human she knew she would be crying. As it was, she was gritting her teeth, breathing hard and fast…

"That's what it feels like to take a life," said Jasper quietly, refusing to meet his father's gaze. Rose knew he was not proud of his past—he had done deplorable things that would turn Carlisle's stomach—but he spoke about it so infrequently that none of them had ever truly been able to understand.

Only Alice, Rose suspected, knew the full extent of her husband's sordid beginnings, and for the sixty years they had been a part of the family, Alice had kept his secrets.

"This is different," said Rose, her voice weak. "I'm not killing an innocent, Jasper. He's guilty…"

"Everyone's guilty of something," he replied. "_I'm_ guilty. _You're_ guilty. Even Carlisle," he shot an amused glance at their stoic father, "is guilty of something."

"This is different," insisted Rose. "He hurt _her."_

"And if _you_ hurt _him,"_ said Jasper, "then you'll hurt her too."

She stared, blinking.

"That man, regardless of what else he might be, is her father," he said. "No matter what he does, or says, how he acts, or how much he might or might not love her, he _is_ her father."

"She doesn't need him."

"No, she doesn't," agreed Jasper, "but she deserves justice. And justice will not be served if he's lying in a casket."

"What does he deserve, then?" Her eyes flickered between the two men challenging her. "He hit her, he insulted her, he may have _raped_ her…" Rose's voice pinched even _saying_ the word, "and you two think he deserves the right to roam free?"

"I've never said anything of the sort," said Jasper quickly, shaking his head. "He deserves to rot in prison. Don't shorten his sentence for him, Rose. And don't deprive Bella of the chance to ask him _why."_

Rose blinked.

"If he's dead, she'll never know," said Carlisle, his eyes softening as they fixed on Jasper. "She deserves answers that we can't give her."

Rose could not agree.

"And there is no evidence that he _raped_ her," said Carlisle gently, shaking his head. "There was evidence of _something,_ but..._"_

Rosalie glowered.

"Are you really going to quibble over semantics?" she growled. "What does it matter what word we use? He violated her, plain and simple."

"It doesn't," conceded Carlisle, "not really, but…"

"But what?"

Her father shook his head.

"Stay away from Charles Swan, Rose," he said. "We've already drawn too much attention with the whole shouting fiasco…"

"He approached _me,"_ snapped Rose. "I didn't _seek him out…"_

"Regardless," Carlisle raised his hand. "You've already attracted the attention of the social worker. If she gets too suspicious…"

Rosalie suppressed a smirk. If the worker got too suspicious, Rose might just arrange an accident for her, too…

"Don't even think about it." Carlisle sounded put out. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but this has to stop."

Rosalie sighed.

"I'll agree to _your_ conditions," she said quietly, "under one one of my own."

Carlisle raised an eyebrow.

"If that man puts his hands on Bella again," her voice was a snarl, "I'm going through with it. I'll deal with the aftermath—whatever that might be—but if he lays a finger on her, he's a dead man."

Carlisle, sighing, shook his head.

"I can't stop you," he said, "but I'm begging you to listen. He _won't_ lay a hand on her."

"If you're right, then there's nothing to worry about," said Rose. "But if you're not… I'm going to keep that girl safe."

She did not give Carlisle the chance to respond before she whizzed out of the study, her knees still weak from her father's rage and her brother's interference. When she stopped she found herself in the living room—Jasper had escaped to his bedroom to think, Carlisle had shut the door to the study, and while Esme had distracted the child with cooking, Alice and Emmett had snuck out to the woods to hunt.

Rosalie listened to the steady thrum of Bella's heart.

"Do you think he'll like me much?" Bella's little voice echoed loudly through the house. The sound of it wiped the frown from Rose's face—it always made her happy—and she eavesdropped unabashedly on the conversation as Esme responded.

"Absolutely, darling," she said. "What's not to love?"

"Will he sign my cast?"

"I'm sure he will, if you ask him to."

"Will he be nice?"

"Edward is very nice," promised Esme. Rosalie scoffed. Ever since Edward had announced his return date—his plane would land just after dinnertime tonight—Esme had been singing his praises to the nervous, suspicious child. Bella had not forgotten what little she had learned about him—he was the one who had protested her arrival, he was the one who played the unused piano she had discovered just a few days prior, and he was the one who lived on the third floor of the house, next to some other bedrooms that no one else used.

Bella wanted to know why he had left.

Esme had dodged the question.

"He's going to love you, sweet girl," she cooed, and Rose heard Bella's feet hit the floor. "Look out… this is very hot…" The girl scampered away.

"Is he bringing his cousins?" she asked. "You said he was visiting."

"Not this time," smiled Esme, "though you'll meet them in due course."

"Oh."

"Here you go…" Rose heard the crinkle of plastic from a juice box straw. She had protested their inclusion in Bella's diet—Emmett had brought them back from an ill-fated grocery trip the week before—but Bella had taken to them so enthusiastically that Carlisle had advised against taking them away.

The girl, they had discovered, was a picky eater, and Carlisle was concerned she would lose weight. Any calories, he said, were better than none, and so while Rose worried for the state of her teeth, Bella was content to suck back the sugar.

"Thank you, Esme," she trilled. Rose heard her sliding out a chair. "Are you going to have some this time?"

Rose frowned. One complication that none of them had anticipated was that of Bella's astute observation skills. She noticed everything—she saw when they didn't eat, when they were up late at night, or when they took strange walks in the woods at odd hours. She noticed when Alice stared off into space, and had begun to cling to Jasper when she was feeling sad, knowing that he could make it all better…

They could not tell her the secret—that much was absolutely certain—but Rose had begun to worry that its discovery would be unavoidable. She already knew they were different. She had asked Rosalie more than once about the strange gold of their eyes _(How was that possible if they were not actually related?)_, the coldness of their skin _(Are you sick?)_ and the strange, almost eerie way they sometimes looked when they sat too still _(Is Emmett dead, Rosalie?)._ Esme had managed to avoid a family dinner thus far _(Oh, darling, you just missed the others. They've already eaten!)_, but Bella had begun to take her words with a grain of salt. She called Esme out on it when she knew she was lying, and had begun to stare—particularly at Emmett—demanding to know how he got so big and strong if he did not eat his vegetables like she did.

"Not this time, dear," deflected Esme. "Maybe next time. This one is your _special_ pot…"

"They're _always_ my special ones," she chirped, and Rose heard her fork scrape against the plate. "These are very good noodles, Esme… you're a very good cook."

"Thank you, darling." Esme was chuffed. She had been so fearful of her kitchen skills—she had not cooked a day in her life since she'd been changed—and she had worried that the poor child would starve once she came. Everyone else had known this to be ludicrous—Esme had never failed so badly at anything in her life—but hearing the praise from the child herself was evidently much more powerful.

"You finish that up, and I'm going to sit with Rosalie…"

Bella gasped, and Rose saw her crane her neck around the corner. As she always did when she saw Rose, her eyes lit up and she gave a frightfully big wave, dropping a noodle on the floor.

"Hi!" she cried, grinning. "I got noodles!"

"Yum…" Rose mustered all the enthusiasm she could. "Eat up!"

The girl shoved a massive forkful into her mouth. Rose hoped she wouldn't choke.

"Carlisle didn't mean to get so worked up," murmured Esme at once, sitting next to Rose on the sofa. "It just frustrates him…"

"Yeah, I know," sighed Rose. Esme took her hand.

"He tries so hard, you know… he wants you to be happy. But he can't betray his principles."

"I know," said Rose again. "I just think he's wrong."

"Perhaps he is, perhaps not…" mused Esme, "but either way, he's got some merit."

"Of course," said Rose at once. "I didn't mean to imply…"

"No, and he knows that," she soothed. "He's stressed, trying to figure this whole thing out, and when he's stressed his temper gets a little short."

"I know."

"And Jasper only wants to help."

"I _know."_ Her words were sharper than she'd meant them to be. "I understand, I really do, but…"

"Give it time, darling," said Esme. "He can't touch her."

"But that doesn't mean he can't hurt her, Esme," pleaded Rose. "Look at what he did to her just the other day. She was inconsolable…"

"Yes," Esme was still calm, "but that's something we need to help her with."

"It's not up to _her…"_

"She can't control what _he_ does," said Esme gently, cutting across Rose's protest. "But she can control what _she_ does. We need to empower her—encourage her to overcome her fears, rather than remove them altogether."

"This isn't a fear of the dark," spat Rose. "She's not scared of spiders, or of some other asinine thing children are afraid of—he's a legitimate threat."

"He's a threat if he gets her alone," agreed Esme, her face somber, "but he can't get her alone anymore. She's got us to protect her."

_But what if they lost her?_

"We're not letting her go, honey," said Esme. It was rare that Rose felt like Esme's child—her mother was, in truth, not much older than Rose herself—but when Esme picked up on her worries, Rose felt every bit as young as Bella.

"What if we don't have a choice?" she whispered. "If she leaves us and he's still out there…"

"She's _not_ leaving us. No way about it. We'll fight tooth and nail… pay any amount of money to anyone in the world to keep her with us. That girl is family, Rose. We don't turn our backs on family."

Rosalie let out a deep sigh, her cheeks puffed out.

"Listen to your father for now," advised Esme. "He's got a good head on his shoulders, and he's gotten us this far…"

"I know."

It was hard, sometimes, to go against your instincts. But as Rose listened to the sounds of humming and chewing from the kitchen—she ignored the smell of grease and garlic—she knew she would do whatever it took to make that child happy.

The man could not touch her. The girl was safe.

"All done!" called Bella, urging Esme to her feet. She spared a quick smile for Rosalie—lingering only for a moment in the entrance to the kitchen— before she began to praise Bella for her empty plate.

"Good girl! You keep eating like that, and you'll be big and strong before you know it."

"Can I rinse? I can _almost_ reach the tap…"

"Of course you can."

Rose closed her eyes.

* * *

When six o'clock rolled around Rose and Jasper were both sitting silently in the living room, eyes fixed on the large, ticking clock. Their brother's plane should have landed in Port Angeles almost three minutes prior—they had called the airline to confirm—and soon, he would be back home with them.

Rose hoped he would be good to Bella.

"He's not cruel, Rose," murmured Jasper, sensing Rose's apprehension. She was beginning to think her worries when it came to Bella were not sensible—there was some kind of hyperactive danger detector that had gone into overdrive ever since she had come to live with them, and unless she kept in check, she found it often ran wild.

"I know he's not," agreed Rose, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Jasper. I…"

"I get it." Jasper was grinning. "Trust me. Those feelings you have? They're nothing bad."

Rose shrugged.

"They're not," he insisted. "They're…"

"What?"

"Almost maternal." There was a fondness in Jasper's voice. "They remind me of a mother."

Rose's stomach lurched.

"You think so?" She kept her voice light. "It feels kind of crazy to me. I mean, he's my brother…there's no reason to be so suspicious."

"And she's like your child," said Jasper quietly. "You love them both, but there's one of them that's vulnerable."

Rose nodded her agreement.

"But," continued Jasper, "Edward is a good man. He might have his faults—I'll be the first to admit _that—_but he's not about to hurt her. He'll be good to her, even if he doesn't agree with our decision to keep her."

"Shh…" Rose brought a finger to her lips. "Esme has spent the last week convincing her that Edward doesn't hate her. Don't let her hear you say that."

"He doesn't_ hate_ her," Jasper scoffed. "Even at the vote, he never _hated _her."

"Just the_ idea_ of her," murmured Rosalie. "Nothing wrong with _that_ picture…" Her sarcasm was biting.

"He doesn't_ hate_ anything about her," Jasper chastised. "Edward is a complicated man."

"I know." Rose was frowning. "He's always been like that."

"Yes," agreed Jasper. "He has complicated feelings about a great many things. The night of the vote was one of his more contentious evenings…"

"Yeah?" Rose perked up. "How so?"

"He's afraid of her," said Jasper gently. "She's afraid of what she can do."

"She's just a child…"

"Not of what she can do physically," said Jasper quickly. "More like what she can do _for_ us."

Rose waited.

"He doesn't believe we're worth it," said Jasper softly. "You know what he thinks about our souls— he's made that much abundantly clear—but what he doesn't make as public is a deep and complicated lack of self worth."

Rosalie frowned, shaking her head.

"Edward's always been…"

"He's insecure, Rosalie," said Jasper. "He always has been. He presents himself as confident—suave, even—but underneath it all is a very confused and very troubled man trying to find meaning in a life he thinks is doomed."

"Always melodramatic," grumbled Rose. "If he'd only listen to Carlisle, he might…"

"You mean like _you_ listened earlier today?" Jasper sounded amused now, though Rose growled her resentment. "You and he are more similar than you'd like to think…"

"Shut up," she said finally, her bubble of calm popping. "I'm _nothing_ like him."

Jasper smile was fixed in place.

"Whatever you say, Rose…"

The pair fell silent.

"He'll be home in about ten minutes," breathed Alice, peeking through the rungs of the banister. "Bella is nervous, Rose. Esme wants to know if you'll come up."

"Of course," said Rosalie, rising to her feet at once. Alice had showered—her hair was wet—but she didn't seem to mind as she floated down to join Jasper on the sofa.

"It's not nice to tease your sister," she scolded, evidently having heard their discussion. "There's been enough button-pushing for one day, don't you think?"

"Ah, darlin', she knows I love her," said Jasper. He could not see the small smile that crossed Rosalie's lips—they so rarely expressed any kind of love between them. The smile lasted until she reached the blue room, where she found Esme crouched before a pouting Bella.

"You look beautiful," said Rose at once, spying the dress Bella had put on. She did not know why Bella would be so nervous—it was just Edward, after all—but something in her mind had fixated on what the newcomer would think of her. She had allowed Alice to style her hair—a rarity that Alice was still trying to break—and she had let Esme put her in the red dress Alice had chosen, rather than the blue she herself preferred. She was wearing Mary Janes on her feet—the silver buckles glinted in the light—and she was clean and fresh-smelling.

Bella smiled at her when she came in, but turned her worried eyes on Esme almost at once.

"But what if he doesn't like me?" she asked. "Then he'll never come back…"

"He'll love you, sweetheart." Esme had repeated herself countless times throughout the day. "I wish I could have him tell you himself, but he's travelling…"

"Come on, babe," said Rosalie. "You're lovely. He's going to be so happy to meet you. Come downstairs with me and we can play with Alice and Jasper for a few minutes before he gets here."

"But…"

"Come on, kiddo!" Emmett poked his head in, and Bella started. "Let's go play."

"But…" She looked at Rose. Emmett, undeterred, chuckled as he held out his hand, knowing full well she wouldn't take it.

She took Rose's hand instead, but tolerated Emmett to walk down the stairs beside her.

"Soon, kiddo," he said, patting her lightly on the head.

"Soon what?"

"Soon, we'll be best friends," he winked. "And then we'll have some fun, you and I…"

She stared, wide-eyed, before she turned her suspicious eyes to Rosalie.

"What kind of fun?" she whispered, as if Emmett couldn't hear her.

He howled with laughter.

"Never mind him," chuckled Rose, taking her little hand again. Her cast swung down by her hip. "He's just teasing…"

Bella eyed him interestedly—Rose was pleased to see the fear slowly leeching away—and his smile broadened when she let go of Rose's hand and went to stand next to him without saying a word.

"Nice," he said, offering her his fist.

She stared.

"Bump it," he urged, wiggling it in her face. Bella leaned back. "Make your own…"

Bella balled up her good hand, eyebrows raised.

"And bump it," said Emmett again.

She thwacked the top of his hand with the butt of her fist.

"Nice," he laughed, showing her the proper way to do it. "You gave it the old college try…"

Bella still didn't speak to him, but neither did she gravitate away.

"He's almost here," said Alice suddenly, her voice soft. "He'll be coming up the driveway in just a few minutes…"

Rose heard Bella's heartbeat pick up. She was in the window—Rose could barely see her behind Emmett—but her little nose fogged up the glass as she breathed, and her lip was between her teeth.

"Leave her, babe," said Emmett lowly as Rose went to soothe her. "She's going to worry, regardless…"

"I wish she wouldn't," said Esme. She was tidying the kitchen, putting the last few dishes back in the cabinet. Carlisle had yet to come down—Rose could hear him milling about in his study—and Alice and Jasper were waiting patiently, noses pressed together, on the love seat.

"Bella, sweetheart, did you want something to drink?" asked Esme, poking her head back in. "I've got some fruit juice left over…"

"No, thank you."

Emmett stood behind her at the window.

"There he is, kiddo," he said softly, his finger pointing to the headlights he could just see coming down the path. "Do you see?"

"Uh huh…"

Rose sat carefully in an armchair. She was struggling to keep her thoughts neutral—it had been weeks since she'd had to police herself around her brother, and it would take some time to get used to shielding her thoughts.

The car—a black rental from a dealership up in Port Angeles—came to a gentle stop in the driveway of the house. Everyone—even Carlisle upstairs—stopped their movement and listened to the sound of a car door slamming shut. Bella gasped when she saw him—her heart was hammering in her chest—and Rose could see how her face went red, and her eyes went wide…

When the door to the house opened, everyone turned to stare. Rose could hear Carlisle, slowly descending the steps to greet his son as Esme set the last glass down in the kitchen cabinet. Edward took a few steps inside—Rose heard him shed his boots by the door and toss his jacket on the decorative bench Esme had placed by the door. He had always been quiet and that had not changed over his weeks away—he glided into the room with grace and poise before he froze, his eyes suddenly wide.

It happened so quickly after that.

There was a deep, menacing growl that echoed through the cavernous living room with sudden vehemence. Alice, lost in a vision, gasped and shouted.

"Edward, _no!"_

Rosalie, with barely enough time to turn, saw Edward advance from his place by the door, his eyes locked ferociously on the little child cowering by Emmett's side.

She had never seen that look on her brother's face before, nor, she suspected, would she ever see it again. His face was a haze of pure and unbridled suffering. He looked like a man gone mad—there was a wild, blazing sort of hunger that one might expect to see on a starving man, and an almost palpable _need_ that Rose had never seen before. Thinking back on it, Rose wondered if it might have been lust—not the kind a man might have for his wife, but a deeper, darker lust that commanded him to take, to _consume…_

The child screamed as her brother lunged. Her husband roared. Jasper pounced, his fist colliding with their brother's face, all as their father, wide-eyed and confused, came rushing down the stairs. The snarls were deafening—Esme's fierce maternal pride had reared its head and she was crouched, defensive, between Edward and the girl. Emmett was glowering, the tiny child cradled protectively in his strong, unmovable arms. Jasper had their writhing brother pinned to the floor by his throat, and Alice, unmoving and unblinking, sat curled on the sofa, her hands clapped over her mouth.

"Get him out of here!" growled Jasper, hauling Edward to his feet. Rose could hear Bella sobbing—she was shaking in Emmett's arms—and her brother, still wild, fixed his gaze hungrily on her, his eyes pitch black…

"Let's go," said Carlisle, springing into action. He had been frozen in shock—Rosalie herself had yet to move—but as soon as Jasper had dragged him out into the yard, Rose felt her stomach sink.

"Oh no…" Alice's little voice shocked her back to action. "Oh no..." Esme slowly rose from her crouch, turning to tend to the bawling baby, still held high off the ground in Emmett's gentle arms.

Rose's mouth was dry.

"I'll kill him." She stared fixedly out the window, her body tense with a sudden urge to act, as she watched Jasper and Carlisle wrestle Edward into the trees. "I swear on all that is holy, I will rip his goddamn head off!"


	18. Chapter 18

When Rosalie laid eyes on her brother—his bronze head glinting in the moonlight that was peeking through a gap in the clouds—not even her father was fast enough to stop her. Edward's face was tormented—Jasper's firm, commanding grip was still holding him in place—and when her fist slammed into his jaw, he flew backwards onto the ground.

"How _dare _you!?" Rose was beyond angry. "You would dare to come into this house and attack a _child? _What kind of _animal...?"_

"Rose…"

"I'm sorry." Edward held his hands out in surrender. Rose recognized the humble submission and while she knew it was not like Edward to bow down so quickly, it did not soothe her fiery rage. His temper was almost as bad as hers. She knew he would never lay his hands on her in anger, no matter how hard she hit him, but she had been expecting some sharp and biting words at the very least.

"Sorry?" she laughed. "You're s_orry?!"_

"Rosalie, I…" He shook his head. "My _god…"_

"What the hell came over you?" asked Jasper, letting his brother go with only slight apprehension. "I've never seen you lose it like that, especially not because of a _child…"_

"I don't know…" he raked his hands through his hair. "God, Carlisle, I am _so _sorry…"

Their father didn't say anything. He had his gaze fixed inquisitively on Edward, his eyes narrowed.

"I ought to tear your throat out," growled Rose. She shook Jasper off when he went to reach for her. "I ought to tear your head off, and let it watch while I pummel the rest of you!"

"You'd be justified." Even his voice was tortured. "God, Rosalie, you'd be right. I have no idea what came over me…"

"You will _never_ get the chance to do it again," she vowed. Had she been human, her heart would have been pounding. "I won't let _anyone_ put her in danger like that ever again."

"I know." He was sitting on the ground now, his head in his hands. Rose could see the heaving of his shoulders as he fought, but whether for control of his bloodlust, or control of his emotions, she did not know.

"_You'll never get near her again,"_ Rosalie vowed, the threat ringing loudly in her mind. _"I can promise you that, Edward. You may be my brother, but I will _not_ put Bella in danger."_

"I don't expect you to," he groaned. "God, I am _so_ sorry…"

"You've said," replied Carlisle dryly. He had yet to move from his place on the outskirts of the forest clearing where he was standing, a silent barrier between Edward and the house. "But that doesn't explain what happened."

"I don't_ know_ what happened," growled Edward, his head snapping up. "Honestly, Carlisle… I haven't felt that out of control since the day I woke up in your Chicago townhouse."

Jasper frowned. Carlisle stared.

Rosalie, her temper still high, scoffed.

"Carlisle, I won't stand for it," she said. "I listened to you back at the Swan house when you stopped me from going inside, I listened to you when you _insisted _that I leave her father alone, but I'm telling you right now—this is the last straw."

Carlisle simply watched her.

"I am not going to let him hurt her," she vowed. "I don't care what you have to say about it. You have to choose. It's her or him."

"Rose…" Carlisle's face was pinched. "That's not something I can decide on my own."

"Let me make myself clear," Rose bit out, every word spoken through clenched teeth as she approached her father. "If you choose_ him,_" her eyes snapped down disgustedly to her brother, still curled on the damp ground, "then I'm going to take her away. You won't see either of us again, unless _he_ is no longer a threat."

"Rose…"

"I'm sick of it," she said finally. "All these years you've made _him_ your priority. Well, now it's time to choose. It's us or him_."_

The forest was quiet. Rose could hear faint, but distinct sounds coming from the house about half a mile away. She did not know exactly what was going on but she thought she could still hear crying. The sound tore at her heart—hadn't the poor child cried enough already?—but the harder she listened, the louder it became. The noise did nothing to redeem her sullen, shell-shocked brother, and she saw him cringe with each piercing cry that echoed through the dark trees.

"I love all my children equally," said Carlisle softly. Rose knew that she had hurt him—she could see it in his face—and though he accepted her fury with calm and poise, she was unmoved.

All she could think about were the words Jasper had said to her that very same evening.

"_They're almost… maternal. They remind me of a mother."_

Carlisle had found five—now six—chances to be a father. Bella was Rosalie's only chance to be a mother.

"I can't make that decision alone, Rose," said Carlisle again. Rose could see the pain in his eyes and she felt a twinge of guilt, but when she looked at her brothers—one still curled on the ground with the other mounting his silent vigil beside him—neither one of them spoke up.

"Figure it out."

"You've been my own daughter since the day I found you," said Carlisle quietly, and Rose narrowed her eyes. "Ever since you woke up that night, so long ago…"

Rose remembered it clearly—Carlisle's had been the first face she'd seen. He'd been leaning over her, his hands on her face, as he peered into her crimson eyes, his mouth forming the words _"I'm sorry"._

"Perhaps," she conceded. She watched him as she spoke—it was the least she could do—and carefully gauged his reaction. "But you've always had a soft spot for _him."_

"He was my first," sighed Carlisle. His eyes travelled down to the one sibling Rosalie had always envied. "I don't love him any more than you, Rose. I just love him..._ differently."_

"Well, now you'll put that to the test," said Rose. "It's us or him. I'll take Bella and go. We'll find ourselves a nice home and she'll be happy. I don't know if Emmett would follow, but even if he didn't, it wouldn't be too long before Bella was grown…"

"I can't, Rosalie," said Carlisle again. "That has to be a family decision."

"And where," she snapped, "do you suggest we conduct this meeting? We can hardly go back to the house where Bella is, and neither can we leave her alone…"

"He should be fine in the yard," said Jasper, speaking up for the first time. "And if he's not, he won't get past us…"

"No."

"There's no other way, Rose," said Jasper. "You know Carlisle's right. The decision about what to do with the girl is neither yours nor his alone. You said it yourself—she's family now, and it needs to be a family decision."

Edward groaned.

"_You_ can shut up," snapped Rose. "You have absolutely_ no_ right to say _anything."_

"I'm sorry," he moaned again. "I'm so, so sorry…" A flash of annoyance hit her hard, and though she felt Jasper trying to soothe her, she did not respond.

"Get up." She was at his side in an instant. Reaching down, she grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. She was surprised to see his knees shaking.

"Stand up… What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know," said Edward again. He grabbed her hand—a rare and oddly demonstrative action for him—and carefully twined his fingers with hers.

His hands were shaking too.

"Edward, what…" She tried to pull away.

"I'm sorry, Rosalie," he repeated, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were still black, and his face was white and wild. "I'm so very, very sorry…"

Rosalie said nothing.

"I've never felt _anything_ like that before," said Edward. "Children are usually so innocuous… they've always been easy."

"It's the hormones, I think," said Carlisle gently. "Once they hit puberty, everything is amplified…"

"Whatever it is," said Edward, "I've always found children quite enjoyable. They're refreshing, almost…"

Rosalie grimaced and pulled her hand away.

"Poor choice of words," she grumbled. "Refreshing?"

"You know what I meant," said Edward. "They're a relief… their thoughts are pure, and they don't smell anything like adults…"

"But?"

"But she's… _different."_

"How? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean," Edward clenched his fist, "that something about her made me lose total control. I've never smelled anything to rival it…"

Jasper—thus far relatively quiet—spoke up.

"That makes no sense," he said. "I've been in that house with her for weeks now, and she hasn't bothered me any more than any other child would. _I'm_ the one with the control issues… you're almost as good as Carlisle."

"I don't _know!"_ said Edward again. "I…"

"_La tua cantante," _hissed Carlisle suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Rose turned to stare. Their father was closer now—his eyes fixed determinedly on Edward, who looked both startled and afraid.

"Not possible," he said, grimacing. "It's a myth, Carlisle."

"So is _Stregoni Benefici," _he countered. "Yet here I stand, in the flesh."

"Cantante…" repeated Rose, her brow furrowed. Her Italian had suffered over the years—she rarely had the opportunity to use it—but something about that word rang true in her mind. "Does that mean 'singer'?"

"Yes," said Carlisle. "It's a term that was coined some time ago, back in Italy…"

Rosalie shivered.

"When I was with the Volturi," he began, "there was some talk of blood singers. These were humans, they said, whose blood was so potent and powerful that it caused uncontrollable thirst."

"Never in all my years in the South did I ever see anything to prove it," said Jasper quietly. "I've heard the legend, Carlisle. But there's simply no evidence."

"Isn't there?" countered Carlisle. "How would you explain what happened tonight, then?"

Jasper sighed.

"Aro himself is said to have encountered it only twice," murmured Carlisle. "It's quite rare, according to him. But if that _is _what happened back at the house, then it's a miracle you even let yourself be taken away, Edward. It's a miracle you didn't tear through all of us to get to her..."

"I don't know_ what _it was, Carlisle." Edward was hoarse. "But I do know one thing—Rosalie is right."

Carlisle fell silent.

"I am a danger to that child, and I think we all need to come to terms with what that means."

"You won't hurt her," said Rosalie firmly. "No way in hell."

"I know."

"Let's not fight here," said Jasper gently. "Esme, Alice, and Emmett deserve a say in it too. Let's go home."

"If you so much as _look_ in her direction…" Rose had her fist clenched around Edward's collar.

"I know, Rose," he said. He did not protest when Jasper took hold of his arm, holding it in a protective grip. "I don't _want_ you to let me near her."

Rosalie grunted.

"You two go on ahead," said Carlisle gently. "Explain to the others what's happened."

Rose, tense and frustrated, went to fall into step as well, but was startled by Carlisle's gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Not you," he said gently. Jasper took Edward and began to leave. "I want to talk."

"I'm not in the mood," said Rose, shrugging out of his grip. "We have more important things to attend to…"

"No," said Carlisle, swiveling around to stand before her. "This is important, too."

She glared at him, her eyes hot and accusing, as a mask of sadness fell onto his face. She did not speak first—_he_ was the one with something to say, after all—but when he opened his mouth, she froze.

"I want to apologize."

Rosalie blinked.

"For what?"

"For ever making you feel like you didn't matter as much as the others," he said. "That was never my intention, and I certainly didn't mean to…"

There was an awkward silence as he trailed off. Rosalie, only slightly ashamed of the accusations she had made, did not know what to say.

"I want you to know—no, _please_ listen…" She had turned to walk away. "I want you to know, Rose, that I care for you just as much as I care for Emmett, or Alice, or Edward…"

"Then why does he always come first?" Rosalie's voice was low. "Ever since the two of you transitioned from a pair to a family, it's always been Edward."

"I never intended…"

"The fact that you even had to _hesitate_ when it came to the choice," said Rose, her throat oddly tight, "speaks more than your words ever could."

"They are both my children, Rosalie," said Carlisle quickly. "As are you."

"Exactly. But you chose_ him…_ just like I knew you would."

"Darling…" Rose flinched at the endearment. "Darling, _no..."_

"Yes," she argued. "I saw how you looked at him—you _pitied_ him, even after he tried to take that little girl's head off."

"I hurt for _both_ of them," said Carlisle. "Not just him."

"You've got a funny way of showing it."

"I'm sorry, Rosalie," he sighed, his head bowed. "What would you have me do?"

"Choose_ her."_

"It's not my choice to make," said Carlisle again. "Your brother was right—it's a _family_ matter, and it has to be a _family_ decision."

"The family will follow you, no matter what," said Rose. She felt mutinous. "If you decide to send Bella away, the family would back you."

"I couldn't send that child away," said Carlisle softly. "Truly, Rose… I know you're angry with me, and you've been frustrated ever since I challenged you on the matter of her safety, but I'm not heartless."

Rosalie fixed her gaze on his face.

"No one could ever accuse you of being heartless," she said finally. "I've voiced my complaints, true enough, but not once did you hear me say you've got no heart."

"Do you know why it's been different between us?" asked Carlisle, after only a moment of silence.

"Enlighten me," she growled.

"There's no _trust, _my girl," he replied. When he came closer, his hands once again on her shoulders, she did not shrug him off. "You claim that I care more for your brother than I do for you. But has it ever occurred to you that over nearly one hundred years together, Edward and I have formed a bond of trust?"

Rosalie frowned.

"When I found you, bleeding and broken, I did what I thought was right. I saw you that night for what you were then—a young girl in her prime, about to be snuffed out too soon by heinous violence and bitter betrayal. You blame me—I know you do—but for what it's worth, I was trying to _help_."

"I know." Rose had heard this story many times before. "That's not what I'm talking about…"

"Isn't it?" Carlisle drew her into the circle of his arms. She did not like it—the more he tried to soothe her, the more her anger melted away, and when she could no longer be angry, she began to grow sad.

"From that day on, Rosalie, you've never been able to trust me. No matter how I tried to reach out, you always turned me away."

"I didn't…"

"You're grieving," he said gently. "I understand that. First it was your failed engagement. Then it was your own humanity. Then it was your human family, who moved on without you, and then then your friend Vera, and the death of your brothers, and the death of your brothers' children…"

Rose shook her head—he was not wrong, but she did not like to think about it.

"And then, you grieved the loss of your own mortality," he said gently. "You've been mourning the children that could never be, and the life you could never live, for nearly seventy years."

Rosalie said nothing.

"And then, in popped this sweet little girl to give you everything you thought you'd lost. She was alone and hurt—just like you felt all those years ago—but instead of running away from you, she ran _towards_ you. She gave you the chance to take back what you lost, and then I came in, thwarting your efforts to keep her safe on your own terms…"

Rosalie grimaced.

"What's this got to do with Edward?" she asked finally, the anger draining from her voice. "My issue is with _him,_ not my own sordid history…"

"I think they're entwined," said Carlisle. "You don't trust me because of what I've done, but I don't know exactly what you need from me anymore."

Rosalie pulled away.

"I need you to choose _her,"_ she said finally. "I need you to tell me that you're not going to let that little girl walk out of our lives because if you do, I don't think I'll be able to take it."

She hated feeling vulnerable. She did not like admitting weakness. As Carlisle watched her, his soft, compassionate eyes alight with gentle understanding, she felt as if he were staring at her naked, exposed for all the world to see. It was rare that she had any kind of heart-to-heart with her father—all that he had said was very true—and though a large part of her _wanted_ to trust him, an even bigger part of her fought tooth and nail against it.

But Carlisle was not wrong. He rarely was.

"Rosalie," Carlisle shook his head. "Sometimes I really do wonder what you must think of me."

Rose opened her mouth to speak, but her father cut her short.

"Because if you believed, even for a moment, that I loved you even a _fraction _of what I really do, you wouldn't deign to think that I would take that child away from you. It frightens me to think that you'd believe me so callous."

"I'm sorry…"

"No, _I'm_ sorry," he said. "It's a father's job to foster that trust, and obviously I've failed. I'll do better, Rosalie. I'm sorry."

He walked off then without another word, leaving Rose behind with racing thoughts and questions on her lips.

* * *

In the great, sprawling yard of their secluded, quiet house, all seven adult members of their family stood in a large circle, all eyes glued on their antsy, white-faced brother.

"I'm sorry…" Edward had apologized at least a dozen times. "I'm very, very sorry…"

"You know…" Emmett was irate. Rose could almost feel the anger vibrating through him, though he did not dare lash out where Bella might see, as he glared bitterly at the top of Edward's bowed head. Rosalie's eyes flickered up to the third floor window—she could see Bella's tearstained, pale little face peeking over the windowsill. Emmett and Esme had tried to put her to bed, but evidently the child was not prepared to sleep.

"It takes a special kind of _asshole," _he spat the word, "to terrorize that poor kid like you just did. What did you do? Forget to hunt before you came?"

"No," said Edward, shaking his head. Carlisle had tried to explain, but her angry husband would not hear it. "I'm sorry, Emmett. I never meant to…"

"We spent the whole day trying to convince her that you didn't _hate_ her," he snapped. "You don't think she's got enough on her plate without having to worry about you taking a bite out of her?"

"I'm…"

"Yeah, you're sorry. We know."

"I don't know what else I can say," murmured Edward. "I never meant to hurt the girl…"

"That's not why we're here," said Esme quietly, cutting across. "We're here to decide what to _do_ about it."

"Yes, we are." Carlisle glanced around the circle. "Rosalie has already shared her views with me…"

All eyes turned to her, instead.

"I'm not prepared to let _anyone_," she glared at Edward, "hurt that child. If that means protecting her from my own brother, then so be it."

"How would you protect her?" asked Alice. "If he's in the house…"

"He _won't_ be in the house with her," snarled Rose, her temper getting the better of her. "Of that much I'm certain. I've told Carlisle, and I'm telling the rest of you: it's him or us."

"What do you mean, _us?"_ demanded Esme.

"I mean Bella and I," said Rose. _"I_ found her. _I _brought her here. _I'm_ the one who fought for her. So if Edward decides to stay, I'll take her with me and we'll leave."

"Leave and go where?" Emmett was shocked.

"Wherever it's safe," said Rosalie. "I'll make up a tale for the social worker, and then take her someplace far away. Somewhere she'd be safe until she was old enough to be on her own…"

Three voices—Emmett, Alice, and Esme—chimed in at once.

"You can't take her away from us!"

"No, Rose, you wouldn't…"

"Babe, you know I'd come with you…"

"Stop!" Carlisle stared around the group. "One at a time, please."

"You can't take that girl away," said Esme fiercely, grabbing Rosalie's hands. "She matters to all of us, Rose, not just you."

"It's your decision… Carlisle says it's up to everyone."

"She can't leave," said Alice, her eyes wide. "I've _seen_ it, Rose. The social worker would never go for it. She'd be taken away when they found you, and then…"

"I'd make it work," snarled Rose. "Bottom line—she's going to be _safe."_

"She _will_ be safe," said Edward suddenly, rising to his full height. He had been reluctantly silent ever since they had returned to the house. He had accepted the berating of his siblings and mother with unusual grace, his head bowed in humble acceptance of the anger he had righteously earned. He had not lashed out, as Rosalie expected he might, nor had he made any moves to reenter the house.

Rose was glad he had not. If he had decided differently, she would have been forced to act on her threat to take his head.

Edward muttered something under his breath—the words were too quiet for the others to hear—but Carlisle looked suddenly apprehensive.

"Son?"

"I'll go," said Edward, louder than before. "I'm not going to make anyone choose. I'm a grown man—I can survive on my own for a little while—but she's only a child. I didn't agree with her coming, but now that she's here, I won't be the one to tear her away."

"Edward…" Esme's voice was wretched.

"I'll go to South America," he said quietly. "Or perhaps Asia. There are many places I've yet to explore, and it'll do me some good to see new places."

"Oh…" Alice's eyes widened. "Edward, no… can't we at least _try?"_

"No, Alice," said Edward quickly. "It's the only way."

"There has to be another solution," she reasoned. "Surely you don't have to stay away _forever…"_

"Not forever," laughed Edward. "Just until the girl is grown."

Alice frowned.

"But there's so much you'll miss!" she cried. "She was supposed to make us _whole,_ not tear us apart…"

Rose could still see Bella's little face in the window, though she knew the girl could not hear them. Her heart was set—there would be no separating from that child now—and she turned to her brother with uncommon gratitude.

"Thank you," she said, her voice echoing through the trees.

"_You don't know what this means to me."_

"I do," said Edward gently, taking a step towards her. "I really do, Rose…"

"_When she's older, you can try again… I know you'd love her, if you'd give her a chance…"_

"Maybe," agreed Edward, his eyes twitching up remorsefully to the small face in the window. When she saw him looking Rose saw her eyes widen, and they all heard the dull_ thud_ when she dropped out of sight, her knees hitting the floor.

Rose wondered just how much damage her brother had done.

"Enough, I'm sure…" Edward responded to the thought. "But no matter. She'll be safe while I'm gone, and I know she'll make you very happy."

"Yes."

"And Rose?"

She met his gaze.

"Listen to dad," he whispered, reaching out to her for a rare hug. "He means what he says. He's really trying, you know…" Rose felt his firm arms wrap around her—his grip was tight and strangely affectionate—and though she was still so angry, a part of her began to mourn him.

"_I know."_

"I'll go now, then…" he whispered in her ear. "It's better that way."

"Oh, Edward, no…" Esme reached out, her brow furrowed. "Surely you can wait a few days? At least take the time to prepare…"

"I'll be fine, mom," he said. "I can get anything I need on the road."

"Keep in touch, Edward," said Carlisle. "Let us know you're safe."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," he said, a wry smirk on his lips. "I'm nearly indestructible, remember?"

Carlisle smiled, though there was no humor in his eyes.

"And Rose?"

"Yeah?" Her brother's eyes were boring into hers.

"Tell her I'm sorry," he said. "Tell her I wish it could be different…"

"_I will."_

"I love you all. I'll see you soon."

And before any of them could say another word, Edward had vanished into the trees, leaving only the scent of honey and pine in his wake.


	19. Chapter 19

Rose sat across the table from the taciturn, scowling girl, her fingernails tapping impatiently on the glossy, varnished tabletop. The room was cold—Rosalie could see goosebumps on Bella's crossed arms—but the child had refused all offers to move into the warmer, fire-lit living room. Carlisle and Esme were seated on either side of Rose, all three of them watching the surly, downcast expression on Bella's face, but even though the room was painfully silent, she did not speak.

The only sound in the whole house—aside from the familiar hum of electrical wires, the ticking of wall clocks, and the gentle crackle from the fireplace—was the hummingbird thrum of her anxious heart, and her stuffy-nosed, sniffling breaths.

"Bella, sweetheart…"

She flinched, curling further into herself when Esme spoke. Rosalie's heart sank. They should have known it was too good to be true… last night, after Edward had left and the family had trooped solemnly back inside, the child had come tearing down the steps in a flurry of worry to cling to Rosalie's neck. She had been nervous—that much was clear—but an irrefutable, desperate need for contact had arisen in her brother's wake and Rosalie had been all too glad to fulfill it.

She had fallen asleep—though it had taken over an hour of soothing backrubs and gentle rocking—right on Rosalie's cold, hard shoulder, and she had remained there until the wee hours of the morning, when Rose had placed her carefully in her bed.

When she had awoken promptly at five thirty on Monday morning, Rose had known then and there that there would be no school for her _that_ day.

_The cry from the upstairs bedroom—sharp and startling in the silence of the somber morning—pierced the air like a gunshot. Rose was sitting on the sofa downstairs, her feet curled up in Emmett's lap, as she thumbed through an old novel she'd found tucked away in a cabinet, her eyes only scanning the words. She had neither the patience nor the presence of mind to focus on the story, and the book fell from her hands with a sharp _thwack_ on the floor when the sound rang out._

"_Go on, babe…" Emmett had nudged her feet off of him. He had been particularly quiet after they'd returned to the house, speaking only a few words here and there throughout the night._

"_I'm going," sighed Rose, just as the crying started up. The child was afraid—Rose had become attuned to her cries and knew the differences between them—and when she passed Esme on the stairs, her mother stopped to let her by._

"_I'll let you go," she said quickly. "Poor baby…"_

_She had found Bella, stiff and upright in her overlarge bed, tearstained and tousled from sleep. The door cracked open and she flinched, her little arms clutching the blankets in a tight, shaking grip, but when she saw Rosalie silhouetted against the light outside, she reached out and cried._

"_Hush, sweetheart…" Rose reached out to take her. "It's alright. It was only a bad dream…"_

_When Rose pulled her carefully from her covers, she saw the soiled sheets almost at once._

_When she pointed it out, the child cried even harder._

It had taken both Esme and Rose, after the bed had been stripped and her wet clothes changed out, that no one—especially not Carlisle—would hit her for making a mess of her bed. She had been making so much progress with them—Rosalie had been so proud of the strides she had made—that it hurt to see her sliding backwards. But even Rosalie knew that it was only a matter of time. They had all known her path to recovery would not be easy. Rose had never expected, however, that the catalyst for her setback would have been her own brother.

After that fateful, tearful morning, the child had fallen conspicuously silent and had not said another word all day.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" asked Esme again, her hand outstretched on the table. Rose knew that she hoped the girl would take it—it always made Esme happy when the child warmed to her—but Bella's little fists were clenched under the table.

She didn't answer.

"Are you afraid?" _Flinch._

Rose's fingernails continued to tap.

"You know we just want to talk, sweetheart…"

_Flinch._

"Bella," Rose was beginning to lose patience. "Honey, say _something."_

_Flinch._

Rose's heart was in her throat. Unable to watch this sad display without doing _something_, Rose got to her feet and was around the table in a fraction of a second. She didn't notice the child's wide-eyes or her tooth digging deep into her lip until she bent down to touch her, and the biggest flinch of them all sent that sharp, little baby tooth right through the skin.

"Oh honey…" Rose's throat burned at the scent of blood. "No, sweetheart."

"Here," Carlisle nudged her aside. He had a napkin in his hand—Rose was not sure where he had gotten it—and he knelt next to her. Pointedly ignoring the stiff set of Bella's spine, he carefully dabbed at the dollop of blood running down her chin and applied gentle pressure to the new wound.

"Be careful with your teeth, darling," he said. His smile did not reach his eyes. "You're going to hurt yourself."

The child pulled her chin out of his grip, nearly falling backwards off the chair before he leaned back and knelt a few feet away with a dark, worried glint in his eye.

"We should talk about last night," said Carlisle again. Rose was surprised at his patience—Rose herself was growing more antsy by the minute—but Bella, in all her stubborn fear, did not seem to hear him.

"No?" he asked. Bella shivered.

"Maybe we should give her a minute," said Esme quietly, carefully rising from her place at the table. Rose was frustrated—she was fighting to keep the evidence off her face—but she wondered how well she was succeeding when Bella's closed-off, wary eyes met hers and began to water.

"Maybe," agreed Rose hastily. She did not want the girl to cry again. "Carlisle?"

"I suppose," he sighed. "We'll be right out in the living room, sweetheart. You take a moment to find your voice."

Bella did not say anything as he rose to his full height, taking quick steps back so as not to spook her.

"Come on," said Carlisle, holding out his hand for his wife and eldest daughter. "Let's leave her for a minute."

The three others were seated in the living room, their heads bowed around a small coffee table. Rose noticed how pale Jasper looked—she supposed he would have smelled the blood, no matter how insignificant—and she was proud of him for his tolerance.

"Take a breather if you need to," advised Carlisle softly. "She's not going anywhere for now."

"She's frightened," said Jasper. His voice was hoarse. "And confused."

"As well she might be," murmured Alice. The charcoal pencil in her hand was flying, the sketch pad filling at an alarming rate. "After that _spectacular_ display last night…"

Emmett grimaced, eying Rose carefully when she sat in an armchair.

"She'll be alright," he said softly. Rose knew he was trying to soothe her—he hated it when she was upset—but the words did nothing to calm her burning worry. Rose thought she knew, then, what the coast must feel like when a hurricane was descending, turning the gentle, calming waters into a rushing flood. She felt the waves barraging her, almost as if they were beckoning her forward, entreating her to come just a _little _closer…

If she was not careful, they would pull her under.

"Give her time, babe," advised Emmett. He had come to sit next to her, perching awkwardly on the thin armrest. No one contested him—Rose knew that he was right—but what he suggested was easier said than done.

Some instinct, deep and pulsing, was ordering her to go back to the girl and do whatever she could to make everything better.

"She's calming already, Rose," said Jasper gently. His hand was clenched tightly in Alice's free one. "She was so embarrassed this morning, it's no wonder she's sullen…"

Rose grimaced.

"Come on, babe." Emmett urged her up. "Let's go outside for a minute."

Rosalie, though everything in her screamed at her to stay put, carefully stood and walked towards the door.

"I won't go far," she said, glancing at her father. "Call me if she needs me."

"I will."

"Come on." Emmett tugged her hand. "We'll just go a little ways past the tree line…"

The outside air was refreshing—even Rosalie could not deny it—and she took a deep, cleansing breath before she accepted Emmett's outstretched hand.

"She's getting to you," he muttered, pulling her along towards the woods. "I can feel you, babe. You're so tense…"

"I worry, that's all."

"It's not healthy," returned Emmett. "I don't know if we're capable of burning out, but at the rate you're going…"

"I'm fine," she growled. "I just wish…"

"Yeah, I know." He spoke quietly. "I wish it too, Rose, but we need to be realistic."

Rosalie quirked a brow.

"Oh come on…" Emmett cracked a wry smile. "You can't have expected everything to go smoothly. She's had a great few weeks, I'll admit that, but not even a little kiddo as strong as her can keep going forever."

"I know."

"And after that shit storm last night?" Rose frowned—she wished he would learn to control his tongue— "It's no wonder she's feeling a little off."

"Yeah…"

"Who would've thought, really?" Emmett muttered, shaking his head. "Carlisle himself thought it was only a myth, or at the very least a total rarity…"

"I know," said Rose again. She was still not sure she believed it herself, but the evidence had presented itself in all its glorious detail right before her eyes. She saw the way his face had changed—Edward had never worn that expression before, and she wasn't sure he ever would again. It was the face of a man tormented—the struggle of knowing _who_ he was attacking, combined with the fact that he could not control it…

She shuddered.

"I'm just glad he stopped," she whispered. She slowed her walking—they had moved as far from the house as she was willing to go—and Emmett did not protest. Instead, he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, patting the moss-covered seat beside him.

"So am I." He twined his fingers with hers when she sat down. "But I think that's Carlisle's doing."

Rose quirked a questioning eyebrow.

"Think about it," he said. "If Carlisle hadn't taught him how to abstain, then there would have been no way…"

"True." Rosalie had not thought about it like that. "Very true. I shudder to think what might have happened had it been _Jasper…"_

Rose loved her oldest brother—arguably _more_ than she did her younger one—but she knew, without a doubt, that if Jasper had been the one to whom Bella's blood had called, that child would have been dead in an instant. Jasper struggled the most—he had only been on their diet for just over half a century—and the allure of human blood was still strong for him. Rosalie knew that he would not have hesitated—the beast he had spent the past fifty years trying to master would have reared its ugly head again, and not even Carlisle would have been able to save her then.

Rosalie supposed that if it _had_ to happen, it was a blessing that it had happened to Edward. He had the most control out of any of them, apart from their father…

"I know," grimaced Emmett, shaking his head. "But it wasn't. And it won't do us any good to mull over _that _prospect."

Rose rested her head on his shoulder.

"Did I do the right thing?" she asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Last night," she clarified. "I was so upset…"

"I know, babe."

"I accused Carlisle of being biased."

"I know." Rose had told him all of this the night before, in whispered conversation as she'd held the sleeping child against her shoulder. Emmett had listened without judgment—he always did—though Rose had begun to wonder what he _really_ thought.

"Was it right of me to impose that ultimatum?" Her eyes bore into his, suddenly anxious. She had never been so assertive with her father before. Snarky? Perhaps. Sharp? Most definitely. Angry? Without a doubt. But to make those kinds of demands? Never.

"I don't know, babe," sighed Emmett. "I really don't. But you didn't make him choose… not really."

"Edward wouldn't have left if I hadn't demanded it," she said quietly. "I wonder what he saw in Carlisle's head. Would Carlisle have asked him to leave, or would he have let me take her?"

"You know," Emmett squeezed her hand, "Esme would have never let you get away with that."

"It wouldn't have been an option," she murmured, her eyes pinched shut. "I _would_ have taken her, Emmett. I still would, if the situation called for it…"

Emmett ran a hand down her back. His silence was deafening, and Rosalie did not like the sudden, furtive look he had on his face as he stared at a pile of rocks some feet away. His brow was furrowed—a sure sign that he was thinking—and based on the set of his mouth and the hesitance in his voice, Rose knew it would not be good.

"There's something you need to understand, babe," he began.

"What?"

He let out a sigh.

"Now, don't get me wrong." Rosalie's defenses began to rise. "You know I love you, and I'd do anything for you…"

"But?" Her word was sharp.

"It's not just… you." The words were awkward.

"What?"

"I'm…" He let out a harsh sigh. "I'm not saying this right. But it's not only about _you,_ babe."

"I know that…"

"No, you don't. If you did, you'd know that taking her away isn't an option."

"Of course it is!" Her incredulous voice began to rise. "What do you mean, Emmett?"

"I mean," he rose to his feet, "that it's not just the two of you. It never was!"

She glowered.

"_I'm _the one who brought her here," she growled. _"I'm_ the one who found her. _I'm _the one who fought for her."

"Yeah, but the minute you won that fight she became one of _us._" He was agitated now. _"Us,_ babe. Not _you."_

Rosalie stared at him before he spoke again.

"You know, Carlisle might be right about you."

She held her breath.

"You've forgotten how to trust, Rose," he murmured. "You're loving, and passionate, and my favourite person on the face of this Earth, but I wish to God you knew how to _trust."_

"I _do_ trust." Her voice was a growl.

"Obviously not," he laughed, shaking his head. "What about what you said last night?"

"What about it?"

"You said you'd take her and run…"

"Yes, I did," spat Rose. "And I'd say it again, if I had to."

"You see?" Emmett's voice was raised now. "You see?"

"No!" She stepped away.

"No, of course you don't…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Babe, you've got a whole family to back you up. You've got _me."_

"You could have come with us," she said. "I wouldn't have stopped you…"

"But you wouldn't have _asked_ me either," he countered. "You would have taken off, just like that, without so much as a word."

Rose glowered. He was not wrong and she didn't like it.

"I have to protect her, Emmett," she said finally, her voice wrenching through the sudden tension. "I _have_ to…"

"_We_ have to," he growled, his teeth clenched. "It's not about _you_ anymore. It's about _all_ of us. Carlisle and Edward included."

"Edward tried to…"

"And he left!" Emmett was shouting now. "He left, Rose! For you! For _her!"_

"There was no other choice…"

"God!" A flock of birds rose from a nearby tree, tittering angrily. "I love you to pieces, babe, but you can be so _dense!"_

"Excuse me?" Rose's eyes widened. It was rare for Emmett to shout at her, let alone _insult_ her.

"Your whole life you've had this_ 'me against the world' _mentality. From the first day I met you, you've been stubborn. Don't get me wrong, I love that about you, but it's at times like this that I wish you could just _hear_ yourself."

"I do hear myself," she snarled. "I want her_ safe!"_

"So does everyone else!" More birds escaped. "Think about it, Rosalie! Think what it would do to _everyone_ in our family if you up and left with that child…"

Rose glowered.

"If Esme had brought her home instead of you—or Alice, or Carlisle, or hell, even _me—_would you let us walk out with her? After we begged you to take her in, to love her, to treat her like one of your own… would you let her just walk out?"

Rosalie paled.

"I…"

"Exactly." His jaw was tense. "We're a _family,_ babe, not a one-man circus."

She bit her lip.

"You claim that Carlisle doesn't care for you, yet explain this one to me. Edward, his first _ever_ companion, is gone because _you_ ordered him out. You made him choose and he did, Rose. You're nuts if you think Edward didn't see that in his head. Carlisle chose _you,_ and he chose that little girl. Think about that next time you start to believe that no one's on your side."

"I never said…"

"You didn't have to," said Emmett. His anger was beginning to die down. "You didn't have to _say_ it. Actions speak louder than words."

Rosalie, still tense and temperamental, bit her tongue.

"What do you suggest I do, then?" she growled, resting her head in her hands. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but…"

"But nothing," said Emmett. "There's nothing more _to_ do. Edward is gone—I'm not angry about that—but I think its time you start at least trying, Rose. Carlisle has been longing for your trust for seventy years, and I think its high time you gave it to him."

"I never meant to…"

"I know." His arms were around her again, and she relished his strong, steady comfort. "I know you didn't_ mean_ to, but the fact remains that you _did_. Carlisle loves you, babe. Even when you don't care much for him."

"I don't…"

"I know."

And she stopped talking, because she knew he did.

"So no more talk of running, alright?" He spoke into her hair. "It's not going to happen and it makes everyone antsy."

"Yeah."

"If you're concerned about something, talk to us. Talk to Carlisle. He'd be happy to help however he could…"

"I know."

"And even if you don't agree with his methods—I don't always, either—you can't deny he's got a good head on his shoulders. He's been around a lot longer than the rest of us, and I think that has some merit."

"Of course it does," acquiesced Rosalie. "I never meant to imply…"

"And don't worry so much about Eddie-boy," said Emmett gently. "You asked me if I thought you were wrong, and I really don't know either way, but I can tell you this—some time away will do him good, and it'll give him some perspective."

"On what?"

"On whether or not he really wants to try," murmured Emmett. "What happened last night can't ever happen again. Now, I _know_ he could master himself if he put his mind to it, but he needs to decide for himself whether or not he wants to try."

Rosalie closed her eyes.

"How do we explain that to _her?"_ asked Rose suddenly, her mind returning to the sullen little girl she'd left back home in the kitchen. "How do we explain to _her_ that he didn't mean to hurt her?"

"I don't know, babe," said Emmett again. "I really don't know."

* * *

By the time Rosalie had returned to the house, Emmett hot on her heels, she was surprised to find that her mother had coaxed Bella out of the kitchen. The girl was still not speaking—she had not uttered a single word since she'd stopped crying that same morning—but she was sitting complacently enough, munching on a stack of wheat crackers Esme had put on a plate in front of her. Rose knew her mother was worried—she could see it in the way Esme watched her eat—but neither woman said anything as Rose sat next to her mother, frowning.

"I'm sorry," she whispered finally. "I'm sorry for how I acted."

"Oh, sweetheart…" Bella looked over, her eyes cautiously curious. Rose watched her bite another cracker. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"I've got plenty to be sorry for, as Emmett so kindly pointed out." She gave an awkward laugh. "But for what it's worth, I really _am _sorry."

"You're forgiven." Esme drew her in for a hug. "Anything you've done has been for the benefit of that child, so I can't possibly hold any of it against you."

Rose sent a silent prayer of thanks for her mother—Esme had always been a startlingly forgiving, astonishingly kind person.

"I won't try to take her from you," said Rosalie softly, her whisper just barely audible in Esme's ear. "I'm sorry I said I would."

Esme said nothing, but pressed a firm and purposeful kiss to her cheek.

"We've all come to love her," she breathed, her eyes flicking back to the intrigued child. "I know you loved her first, but…"

"I know." Rosalie shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Well, there now..." Esme rose excitedly to her feet. "You've found your voice at long last!"

Bella, her cheeks full of food, flushed bright pink. She did not repeat herself, but stared obstinately at Rosalie as she chewed, her little eyebrows screwed up in concentration.

"I'm sorry because I acted very poorly," she said carefully, rising from her seat. "I said some mean things to Esme and Carlisle, and they deserve an apology."

"Did he smack?" asked Bella in a stoic voice that made Rose cringe.

"No, sweetheart. Carlisle would never hit."

"Oh."

"Not me, not you, and not anyone."

She crunched another cracker.

"What about…" she trailed off

"About…?" Rose prompted, her eyebrows raised. "What, baby?"

"_That_ guy." Rose knew she was talking about Edward. "He looked like he wanted to smack."

"No, sweetheart," Esme cut in. "Not at all. Edward never wanted to hurt you."

"Looked like he did," muttered Bella. She found a cube of cheese on the edge of the plate and popped it greedily into her mouth. "He looked awful mean."

"He's not," said Esme quickly, shaking her head. "He's just…"

Bella began to bite her sore lip.

'He's…" Esme looked at Rosalie for clarification. Rose did not know what to say—what _should_ they say to her? She could not know the truth—that would put her in more danger than Rosalie cared to think about—but she would have to be told _something._

"He's… troubled," said Rose awkwardly, her eyes fixed on Esme. "He's just a complicated person, that's all."

"He hates me," said Bella matter-of-factly, and Esme gasped.

"Oh, honey, no…"

"Yep," Bella smacked her lips, setting the plate down on the cushion beside her. "I know it. He only didn't smack me because Jasper smacked _him_ first."

Rose bit her lip. Esme was at a loss for words, scrabbling anxiously for what to say next…

"Edward doesn't hate anyone," said Carlisle suddenly, descending the staircase with pointed slowness. Bella still started when she saw him—Rose was sad to see a look of suspicion on her little face—but she did not flinch when he came near as she had earlier, and so he sat down next to her on the sofa.

"Yes he does." Bella looked surly again. _"You_ said he would be nice."

Her eyes flickered to Esme.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she mourned. Rose knew her mind was racing for a solution—she could not bear to have Bella upset with her for something she could not control, but neither could she assuage that displeasure with any account of the truth.

The child was simply too young—she would not understand.

"No," said Carlisle again, shaking his head. "Edward had some trouble last night, but he didn't mean to frighten you, nor did he mean to hurt you."

"But…"

"I can prove it to you," said Carlisle, his eyebrows raised. "Would you believe me then?"

Bella stared, unblinking.

"Edward?" he called, and Rose suddenly noticed the cell phone clutched in his hand. "Are you there?"

"_Yes." _His voice was tinny and distant, but clear in Rose's ears. She could have kissed Carlisle—what stroke of genius had struck him to inspire this idea, she would never know. Bella could just make out the voice—it would be very quiet to her, unless she pressed the speaker to her ear—but she seemed to recognize the timbre on the other end.

"Here you go, honey," said Carlisle, holding out the phone to her. "Say hello."

"Nuh uh!" She backed away, shaking her head. Rose fought the urge to laugh—the look of childlike indignation on her face was comical—but when Carlisle insisted, she reached out a hesitant hand to take it.

"…hello?"

"_Hello, Miss Bella."_

Bella gasped, her face red and blotchy. Rose watched her struggle for a moment—it was almost awkward to watch—and she sent her brother a silent _thank you_ when he spoke first.

"_I wanted to apologize for my behaviour last night," _said Edward gently. Rose was pleased to hear a genuine note of remorse in his voice, and she suspected Bella had picked up on it too when her frown relaxed. _"It was very wrong of me to behave as I did, and I hope you'll forgive me."_

"Okay..." Her voice was squeaky. Carlisle stood and went to sit with Esme and Rose, giving the child some illusion of privacy. She had no way of knowing they could hear Edward on the other end, and so when she turned her face away to rest it on a cushion, they pretended not to notice.

They all remained steadfastly and seriously silent.

"_What can I do to repay you?"_ asked Edward. _"I can't come home and say it in person—I'm already too far away— but whatever you ask in recompense, it's yours."_

"I dunno…" Rose was thrilled to hear a little giggle in her voice. "What's _recompense?"_

Edward laughed.

"_It means, little one, that if there's anything I can do to make it better, I will."_

"Do you hate me?" Bella blurted the words all at once. "Esme says you don't, and Rosalie said that you would like my dress, but…"

"_I understand how you might think that I do, but no, little one. I don't hate you. I could never hate you."_

"Oh."

"_And your dress was lovely. Don't think I didn't notice… it was the red one Alice made for you."_

"How'd you know Alice made it?" she cried, suddenly circumspect. "I never told you that!"

"_Alice told me. __She said that you preferred the blue one…"_

"Yeah."

"_So what will it be, sweet girl?" _Bella giggled.

"That's what Rosalie calls me."

"_Sweet girl?"_

"Yeah."

"_She's got that one right, then…" _Rosalie rolled her eyes. _"You're the sweetest little girl to ever join our family."_

It didn't seem possible, but Bella went even redder at his words.

"Oh."

Carlisle chuckled, shaking his head.

"Where are you going?" asked Bella suddenly, her little face intrigued. "You said far away, but where's that? Did you go to Seattle?"

"_No," _chuckled Edward. _"I'm in the airport in Sydney, Australia…"_

"Where's that?"

"_All away around the world," _sighed Edward. _"Across the ocean."_

"Wow…"

"_I'm getting on a plane to Hong Kong tomorrow—that's in China—so I can do some exploring."_

"I want to explore…" Bella was envious. "Are you ever gonna come back?"

"_Someday,"_ said Edward gently. _"I'll see you again, I'm sure."_

Bella sighed.

"_But you haven't told me how I can make it up to you,"_ said Edward. _"What can I do to make you feel better? I'm sure I must have frightened you, even though that wasn't my intention…"_

"What does it look like?" asked Bella quickly. "I want to know what across the ocean looks like."

"_Is that all?"_ laughed Edward. _"No gold, or jewels, or fine, fancy baubles? Just a picture?"_

"Yeah!" Bella bit her lip. "A picture."

"_I'll send pictures from all of my adventures, you sweet thing…" _Edward was outright laughing now, though Bella had not caught on. _"Keep an eye on the mailbox."_

"Okay!" Bella's eyes flickered up to Rose's, excited. "I never got mail before!"

"_Thank you for being so good,"_ said Edward softly. _"I'm glad you're willing to talk to me, at any rate. You didn't have to, given how I acted…"_

"Are you mad at me?" she asked softly, her little insecurities bubbling up once more. "Because you _looked_ mad…"

"_No." _Edward spoke firmly. _"No, I was just…"_

Bella sighed.

"_I was just… unwell."_

"Are you sick?"

"_In a sense," _conceded Edward. _"You'll understand more when you're older."_

Rosalie bit back a grimace.

"If you don't hate me, and you're not mad…"

Edward waited.

"And you call me _sweet_…"

"_Yes?"_ Edward was amused.

"Does that mean you're my friend?" Her minute voice was nervous. "Because I'll be friends with you, if you're nice."

"_I can be quite nice, I assure you," _chuckled Edward. _"And sure, we can be friends. I like the sound of that."_

"Phone friends," chirped Bella, "since you're gone across the ocean."

"_Phone friends,"_ agreed Edward. _"You've got yourself a deal."_

"And pictures!" she reminded him. "Don't forget!"

"_Never,"_ he vowed. Bella beamed.

"Thank you," she said shyly. "Have fun across the ocean."

"_And you have fun at home,"_ returned Edward. _"Thank you for talking to me, little one."_

"You're welcome."

"_I'll say goodbye for now, then."_

"Okay…"

"_Just push that little red button on the screen, and we'll be all finished."_

"Okay."

"_Goodbye, Bella."_

"Bye bye, phone friend."

She pressed the button.

"I got a friend," she said quietly, replacing the phone in Carlisle's outstretched hand. "He says I can have a picture."

"Lovely," smiled Carlisle. "See what we said? He's not angry, and he certainly doesn't hate you."

"No," agreed Bella. She put two crackers in her mouth at once. "He said he's going to _China."_

She sounded dreamy.

"One day, you'll see all kinds of new places, too," said Rose at once. "And then you can send Edward some pictures of your own."

"Yeah…" She chewed slowly. "Yeah, that would be nice."

Rosalie chuckled and left her to her daydreams, watching as her little eyes began to drift away, far across the ocean.

* * *

"It's a necessary evil," said Esme quietly, her voice hushed in the silent atrium. There were no other families present—only the fidgety receptionist behind the desk might overhear them—but all three bent their heads together in quiet conference.

"If it'll help," sighed Rose, her eyes flickering to the clock. She had been in almost 25 minutes already, and though Rose could not hear specifics through the thick, cinderblock walls, she could only hope that no news was good news. Had there been a tantrum or a fit of tears, Rose was sure there would have been some sign…

"It will," said Carlisle at once. "I don't know this woman personally, but she came very highly recommended at work."

Rosalie grimaced.

In truth, Rose had been toying with the idea in the back of her mind for quite some time. Ever since Bella had come to them, shy, frightened, and meek as a mouse, Rosalie had wondered just how long they would last without professional assistance. It was only logical, after all—the child had been traumatized in more ways than one—but it had taken the stress of the last week to really put things into perspective.

In retrospect, they should have known.

They should have understood how a fear of Carlisle's anger—no matter how nonexistent it truly was—would cause her stress. They should have known that she would wake up in the night, screaming after horrific nightmares of abuse and neglect. They should have realized that she would have no framework to process the kindness of men, no matter how well-intentioned, nor should they have expected her recovery to be linear. All of them had gone through higher education—all of them knew the basic psychology of trauma—yet none of them, except perhaps Carlisle himself, had been in any way prepared to handle the very real, very tangible consequences of her unfortunate circumstances.

It was only fair to Bella—that was how Rose rationalized it. No matter how they might desire to keep her close, or how they might believe that they, themselves, were best suited to help, it had become quickly apparent that the little girl they had taken on needed more than they were able to give.

And so there they were—all three waiting for the doctor's verdict—as Bella spoke with a therapist in a quiet, lonesome room at the back of an office complex in downtown Port Angeles.

"Doctor Jordan is a good woman," said Carlisle gently. "She's young, from what I've heard, but she's the best in the area at what she does."

"I hope so," murmured Esme.

"She is," said Carlisle again. "I did my homework before picking her out…"

Shirelle Williams, the social worker, had been pleased as well when Carlisle had broken the news. Rosalie knew that Miss Williams had high hopes for Bella—the family had taken so suddenly and fiercely to her that the woman undoubtedly hoped that Bella would not become yet another child left behind. Rose knew how difficult it could be to find good homes for older children in the system—babies were much easier to place—and she knew the social worker was praying that _this _family, the one who had taken her in, would give her a forever home.

They could not tell Miss Williams—Charles Swan's case had yet to go before the courts, after all—just how right she was.

"Here they come," said Esme suddenly, sitting up a little straighter. "Oh, she doesn't look happy…"

"You did a good job today, Bella," smiled the doctor, stopping by the reception desk. She held Bella by the hand—the girl tolerated it well enough—but when Doctor Jordan reached over and handed her a lollipop, she escaped into Esme's warm embrace just as soon as she could get her hand free.

"Can we go?" she whispered, her face buried in Esme's collar. "She said I'm done..."

"I'd like to see mom and dad for just a few moments," said the doctor gently. "Bella, why don't you play with…?"

"Rosalie," said Carlisle quickly.

"Of course. You play with Rosalie for a minute while we chat, and then you'll be free to go."

The girl went quietly enough into Rose's arms, though she showed no interest in any of the dirty, old-fashioned toys in the corner. Carlisle and Esme disappeared with the woman. Rose itched to follow and listen in, but instead forced herself to be still, smiling down at the serious little face.

"Why so glum?" she whispered.

"Dunno…"

"It's alright, you know," said Rose softly. "Doctor Jordan is only trying to help… did you like her?"

For Rose knew that if she _didn't,_ then Carlisle wouldn't hesitate to find her someone new.

"Dunno," she shrugged. "I guess."

"Was she kind?"

"Mhm."

"Did you have fun?"

"No." Bella shook her head. "She had toys, but…"

"But what?"

"Nothing." Bella sighed, resting her eyes. "I just wanna go. That's all."

"Soon, honey…"

"I know."

They waited in silence, listening to the receptionist's soft voice on the phone, until Carlisle and Esme reappeared. Bella perked up when she saw them, her eyes fixed quietly on the doctor, but they were all smiling and no one said another word until Bella's rain boots were back on her feet, and they were on their way home in the car.

"What did you think of Doctor Jordan?" asked Esme, turning around in her seat to watch Bella as they drove. "Did you like her?"

"Rosalie already asked," she complained, grimacing. "I don't know if I like her."

"She said you did very well today," praised Esme, unperturbed. "She said you tried to answer all her questions, and you did an excellent job of telling her how you feel."

"Yeah."

"Was she kind to you?"

"Yes," said Bella again. Rose detected a hint of frustration. "She wasn't mean."

"That's good," said Carlisle. "What do you think about next week?"

Bella sighed.

"I dunno…"

"Why's that?"

"I don't like her questions," said Bella finally, her arms crossed. "She says it's secret, but…"

"And so it is," said Esme seriously. "What happens with the doctor is between the two of you. You're always welcome to share—we would never turn you away—but if you want to keep it to yourself, then that's perfectly alright."

Bella bit her lip.

"She just asks lots of questions about daddy, that's all."

Esme clucked her tongue.

"But you did a very good job," she said again. "I know it's not pleasant, but sometimes what's good for us doesn't always _feel _good."

"Yeah…"

"Did you talk about happy things?" asked Carlisle. "Something other than your father?"

"Yes…" Rose saw her fighting a sudden grin. "We talked about China. And Australia."

She had been so proud of herself that morning when she had learned how to properly pronounce the word.

"Very nice."

"I told her I have a phone friend," she continued. "And that he's gonna send me pictures."

"Did you?"

"She says that I should try to write a letter."

"What an excellent idea," said Esme, amused. "I'm sure Edward would love it."

Bella blushed.

"But I have to learn the letters first," she sighed. "And that takes a lot of time."

"Is that what she told you?"

"Mhm."

"Well, you're on your way," smiled Rose. "Remember how quickly Jasper taught you to read?"

"Yes…" Bella was still giddy over it whenever she saw the word _Princess_ written down.

"Well, if you keep at it, you'll learn to write in no time."

"I hope so…" She stared dreamily out the window. Rose was glad to see some of the tension melting away, and she felt proud whenever Bella grew excited at the thought of learning. She was glad the child was so engaged—it would be a shame for someone so young and with so much left to learn to give up before she had even really started.

"We'll see how it goes next week then," said Esme finally, her head turned as Bella looked around. "If it goes well, then we'll keep her. How does that sound?"

Bella shrugged.

"I guess so," she yawned. "Maybe we'll talk about other things, too…"

"Maybe, sweetheart," laughed Esme. "We'll just have to wait and see."


	20. Chapter 20

Rosalie wondered if her self-control had ever been tested like it was that evening as she was forced to sit idle while her mother paced the room. The family was watching with narrowed eyes—even Emmett's jovial face had turned stormy—as Esme shushed and soothed the crying child in her arms. The tension was thick—Rose thought she could almost feel it in the air—but there was an acrid, bitter taste in her mouth that forced her to bite her tongue and keep her mouth shut.

"This can't go on, Carlisle," Esme appealed to her husband, who was motionless in an armchair near the fire. His eyes were dark and fixed on the crackling orange flames, his mouth a tight line.

"I know."

"I mean it," said Esme crossly. "This has gone on long enough."

Rose was dismayed when Esme tried to release Bella into Alice's outstretched arms and the child let out a wail, her little legs wrapping tightly around Esme's middle.

"Hush, sweet girl…" Esme tried to calm her. Rose could see her shaking—everything from her little feet to her clenched arms were quaking, her tight grip on their mother's shirt almost crushing.

"Please don't cry. You're safe. You're always safe here, darling…"

The girl said nothing.

"This has to stop," said Esme softly, moving to loom before her husband once more. She held the child out in plaintive askance, forcing him to take note. _"Look _at her, Carlisle…"

"I _know,"_ he said again. "I know, Esme, but what would you have me do?"

"I don't know, Carlisle," she growled. "But _something_ needs to happen. She's overwrought."

Carlisle sighed.

Rose bit her tongue—she had made her suggestion weeks ago, but she knew her father's stance had not changed. Carlisle was a lawful man—he believed it was best to let the human justice system take care of Charles Swan, and had firmly commanded all of his children to keep out of it.

Rosalie could feel the murderous impulse rising in her again, and only Emmett's steadying hand on her wrist kept her still.

"Call the social worker," suggested Esme, rocking back and forth in a futile attempt to stop Bella's tears. "Call the police. Call _somebody."_

"I've called the police," said Carlisle, frustrated. "I've called Shirelle Williams. I've called everyone—he's been banned from the school property, but there's no reason to stop him frequenting the diner…"

Carlisle was not wrong. Just last week—after another of Bella's after-school meltdowns—Carlisle's angry missive to the chief of police had resulted in Charles Swan's banishment from the school property. No longer could he linger outside the fence or loiter by the locked doors. No longer would Bella have to look out her classroom window to see him there, watching. She could go out for recess again. She could leave the school after classes and know that he would not be waiting for her. She could go outside without the fear of seeing him there, snarling…

But instead, the incorrigible man had taken to frequenting the local diner just across the road, where he would sit in the parking lot and glare at her through his windshield. Rose herself had gone in to speak with the manager—a middle-aged man whose ancestors had lived in Forks even before her family had moved to town so many decades prior—but despite her pleading treatise, the man had not relented.

_Charles Swan was a paying customer_, he had said. He paid for three solid meals a day. He didn't bother his patrons. The man was polite to his staff. No, he would not accept bribe money to deny a paying customer access to his facility…

Not even when Rose had shouted—thus getting _herself_ banned from the premises—did he relent.

Rose wondered which of the two had done the most damage to Bella's psyche—was it her father's continuous exploitation of legal loopholes, or was it the fact that she had been promised safety? The child had taken to crying almost every day—sometimes for over an hour—out of fear, or sadness, or even simple frustration. Rose knew it was the man's fault—the things he shouted from his place by the fence were deplorable—but when they had told her that he would not be allowed to loiter anymore, she had been overjoyed.

"_Hush, darling…"_ That night, it had been Carlisle who had taken on the role of comforter. Bella had only _just_ begun to take to him _"No, no, sweet girl… No more tears."_

"_He's gonna get me!"_

"_He is not," said Carlisle firmly. "He will do no such thing."_

"_But…" She wiped her face on her sleeve. "He's _always_ there."_

"_Not anymore," said Carlisle. "We've been trying for weeks to have the police take him away, and they finally agreed to listen."_

"_But…"_

"_But nothing, sweetheart," said Carlisle. The child bit her lip. "I called the police station just this afternoon and do you know what they said?"_

"_What?"_

"_They told me that he's not allowed to sit outside your school anymore," said Carlisle. "They said that if they caught him by the fence or in the schoolyard, then he would have to go to prison."_

Rosalie had watched this truth sink in on the girl's face. Her confused little frown had morphed into a mask of wide-eyed astonishment, and her tears had stopped almost at once.

"_So he can't stay there?"_

"_No, darling."_

"_He can't watch at the fence?"_

"_Not anymore."_

"_He can't yell at me?"_

"_No…"_

"_He won't be at school?"_

"_No, sweetheart. If he comes back to the school, the police will come and take him to jail."_

Rose supposed, if she parsed the words carefully enough, they had not _lied_ to her, per se. They, like she, had truly believed that the warning from the police would be enough to deter him. What the police had said was true—Charles Swan was no longer permitted to loiter by the school fence, nor was he to shout at Bella when she was coming outside at the end of the day. He was not to verbally accost Carlisle, whose infinite patience had seen him through many of the man's insults, nor was he to hover on the sidewalk or in the alleyway behind the schoolyard.

No one had said anything, however, about the family diner across the road.

"There must be something else we can do," said Esme again, shaking her head. The girl was quickly growing hysterical—Rose knew that Jasper wouldn't tolerate it for much longer—and Carlisle rose to his feet, furious.

"I know," he said. His hand ran through his hair. "But I don't know what else we c_an_ do…"

"I don't _care_ what it is!" hissed Esme. "This has gone on long enough… she's been with us almost two months now, and this animal has yet to cease his harassment!"

Carlisle growled—a rare and perturbing sound—and went to stand in the window, his eyes fixed on the trees.

"There are only two options that I can see," he murmured, careful to speak quietly. Jasper had taken the child now, though he'd had to pry her little arms from around Esme's neck. She resisted the initial disturbance, fighting against his strong, steady hands to scrabble at Esme's arms, but when she sensed Jasper's wave of calm and lethargy, she went readily enough. Carlisle was purposefully quiet as Jasper relocated her to the dark, quiet corner at the far end of the room, his gift urging her into a light, quiet doze before he spoke again.

"We've exhausted almost all of our legal avenues," he said quietly. "I agree, Esme. This cannot go on. But aside from…" he grimaced, "more _deplorable_ acts, our avenues are limited."

"At this point, Carlisle…" Esme was incensed.

"Darling, _no."_ Carlisle drew her in for a hug. "I know you're angry—we're _all_ angry—but violence is never the answer."

Esme sighed.

"Go on, then," she murmured, only slightly contrite. "What other options do we have?"

"We can hire a lawyer," said Carlisle quickly, and Rose had to bite her tongue. "We've got Jenks on standby, and you now how quickly he works…"

"Not quick enough," grumbled Emmett, voicing Rose's unspoken concern. "He's great with documents and records, I'll admit that, but something like_ this_ takes time. It involves more than just him, and he'd have to work within the legal frameworks."

"I know," Carlisle held up his hands in surrender. "I know, but it _is_ an option."

"And the other?" Jasper's soft voice rang out from the corner. One glance at her brother told Rose just how unsettled he really was—though the child had calmed significantly under his influence, she knew he was upset. His face was an icy mask of irritation and disdain, but this hardness was belied by the very tender way his arms cradled the sleeping girl. Rose knew the child's affection meant a lot to him—he had not anticipated it from her, nor had he been prepared to accept it when it _had_ come, but something deep inside him softened whenever she reached her little arms out. He held her protectively, like a father might his young, and he had wrapped her carefully in the knitted throw their mother kept on the corner armchair so she would not be cold. Rose wanted to be jealous—she had an almost insatiable urge to hold and cuddle the girl whenever she could—but when she saw how her brother took such care with her, Rose could not help but relent.

That child had done as much good for her brother as _he_ had for _her_, and Rose would be remiss to deprive either of them of that connection.

"The other option is to take the child out of the equation," said Carlisle at once. "If we can't take him away from her, then we take_ her_ away from _him."_

"And what would you suggest?" asked Alice, her eyebrow cocked. "We can't very well coop her up inside…"

"No," agreed Carlisle. "No, we can't, but we _can_ take her education into our own hands. There is no reason that she _must _attend the public school…"

Rosalie perked up. She had toyed with the idea herself once or twice before, but hearing the words from her father's mouth made it all the more appealing. She was surprised none of them had voiced it before—she could not have been the only one to consider it—but as Carlisle began to explain further, Rose felt some of the tension dissolve.

"I can see no reason why we couldn't homeschool her," said Carlisle softly. "If it lowers her stress,which the therapist says is integral, and keeps her happy, then it's worth it."

"I could teach her," said Esme at once. She was staring at the child again, unable to help her smile as she watched the child's head lolling on Jasper's shoulder. "I was a schoolteacher before, you know…"

"I _do_ know, my love." Carlisle's voice was soft again. "Of course you would teach her. You're the only one at home…"

Esme was crouching next to Jasper now, her lips pressed to Bella's forehead.

"It's not fair to take her away from her friends," said Alice quietly, shaking her head, "but I can see no other alternative."

"She doesn't _have _friends," sighed Rosalie. "Even _she_ knows that—the only kids who pay her any attention are the little harpies that harass her."

"_Rose!"_ Esme was scandalized.

"What?" Rose cocked an eyebrow. "It's true."

"They're _children…"_

"They're little beasts," said Rose at once. "I love children as much as you, Esme, but even I can't deny that they're terrible."

Esme did not reply, but the disapproving frown on her face said enough.

"Regardless," Carlisle spoke gently, his gaze fixed on the still-sleeping child, "Esme is right. This cannot continue."

"Absolutely not," agreed Rose. "The poor thing is terrified."

Alice, her eyes closed, spoke suddenly.

"If you call the social worker now—she's going to leave at 4:29—she'll come by on her way home."

"Great." The clock read 4:22. Carlisle rose to his feet and grabbed the handset. "I'm sure she'll be _thrilled_ to hear from me again."

"I'm sure," smiled Alice. Carlisle had been on the phone with the woman every day for nearly a week.

It was only when the sour mood in the room had lifted slightly, the anxiety and irritation dying down, that Jasper released the dozing girl to Rosalie's outstretched arms.

"She won't stay asleep," said Jasper softly. "Once I let her go, she'll be awake in about ten minutes."

"I know," murmured Rose. Bella snuggled into her shoulder. "Thank you, Jasper."

Jasper didn't say a word before he kissed the child's dark head and ghosted up the stairs without a sound.

* * *

"Hush…" Alice's ear was pressed to the bedroom door. "Hush, Emmett. I can't hear…"

"Oh yes you can," chuckled Emmett. "Even _you_ aren't that deaf."

Bella giggled.

"Go fish!" He poked the draw pile closer to her.

"Any fours?" asked Emmett, waggling his eyebrows when she dropped her cards. Rose smiled—she knew Emmett could see each and every one she scrambled to collect, but he had the good grace to pretend otherwise.

"Uh huh…" She forked over her red four. "How'd you know?"

"Intuition," he winked.

Bella frowned.

"Any sixes?"

"Go fish!"

"Ask him for a seven next, darlin'," Jasper whispered in her ear. Rose grinned when Bella's eyes lit up with mischief. "He's a big cheater—you've gotta watch him."

"Oh shut up," laughed Emmett. Bella gasped. "I don't cheat!"

"That's a dollar!" chirped Bella, looking to Rosalie for confirmation. "You said a naughty word!"

"What?" Emmett grimaced at his wife. "I can't even say _shut up?"_

"That's two!" crowed the girl.

"Nope." Rose was smug. "You know what Esme told you."

"No naughty words," trilled Bella excitedly. "And do you have any sevens?"

"Damn cheating brother," grumbled Emmett, and Rose laughed when Bella dropped her cards, clapping.

"_Three_ dollars!" she cried. "I'm gonna be rich!"

Emmett, lips pursed, handed over three crumpled bills from his pocket and the black seven he had stashed in his pile of cards.

"Any tens?"

"Go fish!" Bella was bouncing. "Do you have a…"

Rose's attention was diverted from the game almost at once. The sound of tires on gravel nearing the house made her pause, and though she knew the rest were listening too, they were all careful to keep their smiling on faces on Bella. She did not know Shirelle was coming—they were not eager to tell her anything until they had confirmation from the social worker.

Rose slipped away—Bella had grown comfortable enough with Emmett for her to leave them to their own devices for a few moments—and rushed instead to the wall, her head bowed towards it.

"_Good evening…" _Rose could hear the woman's heartbeat as soon as she entered the house. Bella remained blissfully ignorant, her greedy little hands pilfering as many of Emmett's cards as she could.

Rose had been reluctant to let him teach her _anything_ about games… he was such a notorious cheat that she was sure Bella wouldn't ever learn the proper way to play anything. He had taught her a convoluted version of Monopoly the week before (players were allowed to rip off the bank so long as no one was looking), and when he had shown her the ins and outs of checkers, Rose was surprised to hear that if you built a tower out of the enemy's captured pieces and spoke to them _just_ right, they could be converted to your cause and trample the board like an angry dinosaur.

"_Please, come on in." _That was Esme. _"Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"_

"_I wouldn't say no to coffee…" _Rose gritted her teeth, impatient. _"Thank you."_

Rose knew for a fact that before she had sent the rest of them upstairs to amuse Bella, Esme had made a pot of coffee, a pot of tea, and a pitcher of lemonade that would thrill Bella even if it did not entice her social worker.

The smell of poured coffee was bitter—Rose hated it the most out of any human food—but once everyone was settled, Carlisle began to speak.

"_We've called you here out of concern for Bella," _he began. _"We're running out of options…"_

"_My office tells me you've called almost every day."_

"_Yes."_

"_Are you having trouble with her?"_

"_Not at all,"_ Esme cut in. _"No trouble with the girl at all. It's her _father_ causing problems."_

"_So I've been told…" _Rose could almost hear the sigh. _"I received the police report just today."_

"_Yes, well…" _Carlisle cleared his throat. _"We've come to a family decision that we believe will work for us."_

"_Oh?"_

"_Charles Swan has been loitering outside her school almost every day. The police threatened to charge him with harassment and the school had him removed from the front door…"_

"_But?"_

"_But,"_ Carlisle was sharp,_ "he would not be deterred. He stood outside at the fence line, shouting obscenities and vitriol…"_

"_I've heard."_

"_We've had him removed," _said Carlisle gently. _"He's been told that he is no longer welcome to loiter by the fence, on the sidewalk, by the doors, or in the alleyway by the school."_

"_Yes."_

"_But now,"_ Esme cut in, _"he's taken to sitting in his truck in the parking lot of the diner across the street. The poor girl is petrified…"_

"_As well she might be."_

"…_and not even Carlisle's pleading with the restaurant manager was able to convince him otherwise."_

"_I see."_

"_So," _Esme sounded nervous, _"we've elected to try an alternative. We would need your approval, of course…"_

"_Yes?" _Rose heard the woman's pen scratching on paper. Emmett was laughing at Bella—she had evidently picked up on his unsavoury game practices and had tried to peek over the top of his cards.

"_We've wondered if homeschooling wouldn't be in Bella's best interests."_

"_That's rather drastic, don't you think?" _The woman sounded surprised. _"Don't you think we should exhaust all our options before we go that far?"_

"_And what other options do you find viable?" _demanded Esme. _"We've exhausted all our options, Miss Williams…"_

"_We could have another entry and exit time set up for her."_

"_The man is there from eight to four," _said Carlisle. _"I've made alternate arrangements with her teacher twice. He's lost his job, and so he has all the free time he could possibly want."_

"_Well, we could try an alternate door."_

"_The school won't agree. It's a safety violation... They would either have to leave an entrance unlocked, or have someone constantly supervising it to make sure Bella didn't get locked out."_

"_We could arrange police supervision."_

"_What kind of a drain is that on the system?"_ Carlisle was cross. _"We didn't jump to this conclusion with no forethought, Miss Williams. The child is not safe at school."_

"_Of course she is."_ The woman sounded put out. _"We've made great strides to ensure that _all_ schools are safe… he can't touch her there."_

"_I'm not scared of him_ touching _her,"_ said Esme angrily. _"I'm scared of what he's going to do to her mind."_

"_Oh?"_

"_That poor child comes home every day bawling. She's absolutely terrified of that man—and he will_ not_ leave her alone."_

"_He's been warned…"_

"_And he doesn't listen!"_ Esme's voice had risen. _"The police have told him, Carlisle has told him, _you've_ told him…"_

"_But to take the child away from her friends…"_

"_She can have friends at home," _Carlisle said. _"There's no reason she can't have her friends over to visit, or why she couldn't go to another home for playdates."_

"_Who would teach her?" _Shirelle was sharp. _"You work, Doctor, and your other children are still in school themselves. And what about you, Mrs. Cullen? Don't you work?_

"_My work is done by request,"_ said Esme cooly. Rose pressed her ear to the wall. _"I'd be more than capable of getting Bella through all the required curriculum."_

"_Be that as it may…"_

"_Do you have any valid objection to homeschooling?"_ Carlisle was frustrated. _"Other than you don't agree?"_

Rose heard the human sigh—it carried through the walls.

"_I am reluctant to take her away from her routine," _said the woman. _"The girl has been disrupted enough. And I fear…"_

"_What?"_

"_I fear that once this whole thing plays out that she won't be able to reintegrate."_

"_Reintegrate?" _Carlisle questioned. _"What are you talking about?"_

"_In these cases, the judge often finds it best to try and reunite families,"_ said the woman. Rose felt her stomach sink. _"We've got Judge Palmer, and she will exhaust every possible avenue…"_

"_That man struck her, broke her arm, bruised her, molested her, locked her in a closet… how could you even_ suggest_ returning her to him?_"

"_I know, I know…"_ sighed Shirelle. _"But the fact still remains…"_

"_That child is not going _anywhere." Her mother's voice was a hiss. _"I'll tell you that right now."_

"_She is in your _temporary_ custody," _said Shirelle. _"She is not yours to keep until the judge rules it so."_

"_You can think whatever you'd like,"_ said Esme. _"I'm one hundred percent certain that that little girl upstairs isn't going _anywhere."

"_Mrs. Cullen…"_

"_Stop it."_ Esme was angry now, and Rose knew she wasn't the only one who heard it. _"Unless you have some valid protest to these new arrangements…"_

"_I have final say,"_ said Shirelle quickly. _"I'm her social worker."_

"_And we're her legal guardians," _snapped Esme. _"If you decide to challenge us on matters that benefit the child's wellbeing, you can expect to hear from our lawyer."_

"_Mrs. Cullen…"_

"_No." _Rose smirked. _"I refuse to listen to nonsense. If you've finished with your power trip…"_

"_This is _hardly_ a power trip!" _The human sounded angry. _"I'm trying to do what's best for that child!"_

"_As am I." _Esme's voice was deadly quiet. _"And if you suggest one more time that we're doing this for anything other than Bella's health and happiness…"_

"_I would never," _said Shirelle. _"I'm only concerned with the level of involvement…"_

"_That child is family," _said Carlisle at once. _"The minute you sent her here, she became one of our own. We do for her exactly what we'd do for any of the others."_

"_I understand, but…"_

"_But nothing." _Carlisle's voice was firm. _"Bella deserves better than what she's had. Esme is more than willing to spend the time with her, and more than capable of making sure she learns."_

"_What does Bella think of this?"_

"_We haven't mentioned it to her," _said Carlisle. _"She's already going to have to spend a few of her therapy sessions working through her father's persistence… we thought it best not to disappoint her again."_

"_Why?"_

"_Why?" _Esme barked a laugh. _"Because we told her he would be gone. And yet here he is…"_

"_We expected him to be,"_ continued Carlisle. _"When the police told us he would be asked to leave, we thought it would ease her mind. So when he showed up again in the parking lot across the road…"_

Carlisle let out a low, dark laugh.

"_She was nearly inconsolable."_

"_I see."_

"_Do you?" _asked Esme. _"Do you really? Because the way you're acting…"_

"_Mrs. Cullen…"_ Miss Williams was put out. _"I don't mean to imply…"_

"_She will be so much safer and happier here at home,"_ said Esme. _"There is no reason to deny her."_

"_It will mean a lot of paperwork,"_ said Miss Williams, and Rose felt her anxiety ease. _"The office will want all of her progress reports, and there will be officials from the school board in and out of your home performing inspections…"_

"_We understand,"_ said Esme. _"We've already got your people here every six weeks. School board officials don't intimidate us."_

"_Well…"_

There was silence. Even Emmett, who had been teasing Bella with a stuffed bear he'd found on the end of her bed, paused to listen.

"_I suppose,"_ the woman spoke slowly, _"that for now—that is, until we get this business with her father sorted out—that your suggestion might be appropriate."_

"I knew it," murmured Alice, earning her a questioning frown from Bella. "The stupid woman… I've _seen _it."

Jasper chuckled.

"Well, now it's a reality," he said. "And we'll be all the better for it."

"_Excellent."_

"_I'll get the papers written up tonight… W__here is Isabella?"_

"Come, sweetheart," said Rose at once, reaching down to scoop her up. She frowned only a little—Emmett had been doing an excellent job of keeping her distracted—but she did not complain as Rose carried her from the room. Her little hand waved a disappointed goodbye—Rose thought Emmett's smile might break his face—and she turned a questioning eye on Rosalie as they began to descent the stairs.

"Where are we going?"

"Downstairs," said Rose easily. "Miss Williams is here."

"Oh." She grimaced.

Rosalie laughed.

"Mom? Dad?" Bella looked around when they descended the final step. "I've got Bella."

"Wonderful, Rosalie, excellent timing," said Carlisle, ignoring Rose's smirk. "Come with me, sweetheart. Let's go and say hi to Miss Williams. We've got something to tell you."

"Okay…" Bella was suspicious. Carlisle chuckled—there was no hint of the frustration Rose knew he was feeling—and he carried her through to the living room. Rose did not join them—she knew the social worker would not appreciate it, and she did not want to make the situation worse.

"Here, sweetheart…" Rose heard Bella shuffling on the sofa. "Are you going to say hello?"

"Hello."

"Good afternoon, Isabella. How've you been?"

"Dunno."

"Did you have fun upstairs with Rosalie?"

"Yeah."

"How's school going?"

"I dunno."

"Are you having fun in Miss Casey's class?"

Silence.

"Doctor and Mrs. Cullen called me here to tell me about the trouble that's been going on."

"Oh."

"They tell me you're frightened."

"Mhm…"

Rose heard her shift again. When her mother clucked her tongue, Rose peeked carefully into the room to see Esme settling the girl on her lap—Bella had evidently crawled her way up.

"Can you tell me what's so scary?"

The girl mumbled. Rose bit her lip, her eyes narrowed.

"Sorry, sweetheart?"

"…daddy."

"I see…" Rose saw the social worker shift. "We think we may have found a solution."

Bella peeked up.

"How would it be if instead of going to Miss Casey's class at the school, you stayed home with Mrs. Cullen and she taught you your lessons instead?"

Bella perked up. Her eyes, alight with sudden excitement and confusion, darted between the social worker and Esme, who had nothing but smiles.

"Really?"

"Really," she said. "Would that suit you?"

"Mhm…"

"Great!" Miss Williams' voice was high and false. "I'll file the papers, then…"

"Okay." Bella rested her head on Esme's shoulder. "Esme?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Is he gonna come to watch me here, then?"

"Absolutely not," said Esme. "No way, darling. He has no right to come near our home."

"Okay." The child sat back up. "Do I get to use my backpack?"

"If you want to," laughed Esme.

"Can I use my pencils?"

"Yes."

"Are we going to read stories?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

"And numbers?

"Absolutely."

"Can I go back upstairs now?"

"If you want to.." Esme was chuckling.

"Emmett was playing Go Fish. And Rosalie says he cheats so I'm gonna make sure he didn't."

"Alright, darling," Esme waved her off. "Have fun."

"Bye bye, Esme."

"Bye sweetheart."

"Bye Miss Williams."

"Goodbye, Isabella."

When she scampered back up the stairs, Rose could not help but chuckle.

"You better not be cheating!" she shouted, her little voice carrying down the stairs. Rose heard Emmett's roaring laughter through the walls—she was sure Bella could too—and trailed the girl slowly back to the second floor.

"I didn't let him cheat, sweetheart," Rose heard Jasper say. "Scout's honour."

"Did he try?"

"Sure did."

"You rat," accused Emmett. "I only tried a _little…"_

Rose arrived in the room just in time to see Bella launch her stuffed bear at his face.


	21. Chapter 21

The wide smile that spread across Rose's face as she lingered in the doorway to the living room was unavoidable. The room was a disaster—she had never seen the like of it in Esme's impeccable, tidy house— and while Rose knew the mess bothered her mother more than she let on, Esme said nothing as she observed from the kitchen, her mouth pursed in an effort not to laugh. Rose could not believe the look of wide-eyed disbelief on the child's face—it was both endearing and sad, given the circumstances behind it.

"A _real_ tree?" Bella asked, her eyes fixed dubiously on the coniferous monstrosity that Emmett had all but forced through the door while she was sleeping the night before.

"Yeah, a real tree," chuckled Emmett, setting it upright in its stand. Rose let out a snort. With the little eyes tracking his every move, Emmett had no choice but to pretend to struggle and let Jasper help him bear its weight. Bella eyed the pine needles littering the floor, her bare toes pushing the nearest ones into a pile before she scooped them up and brought them to her nose.

"Why'd you steal a tree?" she asked lightly, letting the needles fall back to the floor. "Look. It's all wet from the snow."

The child was not wrong.

"Because it's almost _Christmas!"_ Emmett whined. "Christmas _always_ means trees."

This, strictly speaking, was not true for their strange family. Rose distinctly recalled the last time their family had put up a tree—it had been during the cold, blustery winter of 1953 in a small cabin in the depths of the Alaskan wilderness. She recalled the way her husband had dragged it inside, much as he had this one, to force the rest of them to decorate it with crepe paper he had purchased from the general store in Juneau…

"Why?" asked Bella.

Emmett froze.

"What do you mean, why?" he asked, blinking at her. Bella began to frown, her lower lip slipping in between her teeth. "Because it's Christmas, that's why."

"Oh."

Emmett stared at the girl and Rose hovered, unseen, in the doorway. She knew her husband was shocked. She had expected the girl's confusion ever since their family had begun to discuss the holiday season and Bella had done nothing but stare, blank and uncomprehending. She had shared these suspicions with Emmett, and they had learned that these were the same suspicions shared by the rest of the family. They had begun to suspect that the child had never been given the opportunity to celebrate Christmas, but despite all evidence to support their theory, Emmett had outright refused to believe them. Rose knew that Emmett had been harboring a secret, wishful hope that they were all wrong. Surely the child would know _Christmas. _Surely she would be excited for presents, and cookies, and Santa…

"Oh?" Emmett deflated. "That's it? Just 'oh'?"

Bella, nervous now, began to rock back and forth on the balls of her feet and her toes, wiggling on the bare floor, began sweeping the needles into piles again. Rose could see the way her little cheeks were heating up—whether from embarrassment or nervousness, Rose could not tell—and only when she began to tear up did Emmett pull back.

"Oh no…" he said, reaching out a hand towards her. "Oh no, kiddo. Come here."

He abandoned the tree entirely, resting its entire weight on Jasper's shoulders. Rose smirked—their brother was more than capable of holding its weight, but with Bella's wide, tearful eyes fixed on him, he was forced to put on a show of struggle.

When the tree was safely upright, Bella went quietly into Emmett's outstretched arms with wide, confused eyes. He scooped her up from the floor, twirling her to coax a smile, and settled her swiftly on his lap.

Rose, though watchful, was pleased that the girl no longer showed any fear when it came to him.

"Don't tell me you don't know about Christmas," said Emmett finally, his lips pursed.

"We talked about it at school," offered Bella eagerly. Rose recognized the look on her face—the poor thing thought Emmett was upset, and in her own, little way, _she_ was trying to soothe _him._

Emmett bounced her on his knee.

"Did you celebrate last year?"

"No," shrugged Bella.

"Oh no," said Emmett again. "No, no, no. That won't do."

The child bit her lip again.

"We're gonna fix that, little one," vowed Emmett, smirking when Jasper emerged from beneath the tree, disheveled and covered in needles. "You've never decorated a tree?"

"No."

"No presents all wrapped up on Christmas morning?"

"No…"

"No Santa Claus?"

"You mean the guy with the hat?" she asked confusedly.

"Yeah, the guy with the hat," sighed Emmett. "Don't you worry, kiddo. We're going to make this right."

"I'm sorry…" she said at once, making Emmett frown. "Did I do something wrong?"

To Emmett, Christmas was a children's holiday. Their family was not particularly observant of any religious traditions, but Emmett had always held a special belief that it was a child's God-given right to wake on December 25th to gifts, stockings, toys...

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. Don't be sorry, kiddo," said Emmett, shaking his head. "All I mean is that now _we_ get to show you what it's all about."

"Oh."

She rested her head on his shoulder.

"First thing's first," said Emmett at once. "You see that tree right there?"

"Yeah?"

"We're going to make it the most beautiful tree you've ever seen."

"You gonna paint it?" asked Bella suspiciously, eying the bins and boxes that had been hauled out of storage. "It's awfully green…"

Emmett barked a laugh.

"No," he said, "we're not going to paint it. We're going to _decorate_ it."

"Oh…" Her eyes went wide.

"We've got balls, tinsel, ornaments…"

"Ornaments?"

"Yeah, ornaments," he laughed. "For the tree, and the mantle, and even maybe outside in the yard…"

Rose could almost see her excitement building. Jasper, no doubt feeding into her joy, stood smirking on the edge of the room, his eyes fixed curiously on the little girl.

"What's tinsel?"

"This stuff." Emmett reached into an open box and brought out a long shiny snake, sparkling silver in the early morning light.

"Ohhh…" The girl was riveted. "Do you have blue?" Her little head, still tousled from sleep, swiveled around to eye the plethora of boxes piled on the floor.

"Somewhere in here, we do," cut in Alice, emerging from the kitchen with a plateful of sloppy-looking cookies. Rose _just_ resisted the urge to roll her eyes—her sister, ever since the holiday season had begun, had been dead set on giving Bella the most traditional, mainstream, Christmas experience. Taking it upon herself to invade Esme's kitchen, she had thrown together some cookies, despite the fact that the girl had not yet eaten her breakfast. Bella, however, did not care that Alice's baking was questionable, and was not one to turn down sugar. She snatched them up greedily enough, holding two in her little hand, and shoved them exuberantly into her mouth.

She got crumbs on Emmett's shoulder.

"Thanks Alice," said Bella, cheeks bulging. "Can we put the blue on the tree now?"

"Soon," laughed Alice. "We need to do the lights first."

"Oh…" Bella began to eye the lightbulbs on the ceiling.

"No, no…" Alice reached down for one of the new boxes of white LEDs. "_These_ lights."

"Baby lights!" cried Bella as Alice peeked inside. "They're just itty bitty ones!"

"That's right," chuckled Alice, tossing the box at Jasper. Dutifully, Rose watched as her brother began to unravel the long string, plugging them into the wall to test them.

"Oh!"

The look on Bella's face as the string came to life made Rose smile. Her joy was almost palpable—Rose could see the cogs turning in her head as she fought against a sudden, almost rabid excitement. In her glee, Bella hopped off of Emmett's lap and rushed towards Jasper's corner where he waited, laughing, until she was by his side, her little hands running over the fairy lights.

"They're so _pretty…"_ she said enviously, eying the tree with careful consideration. "Do they _all_ have to go on there?"

Immediately, Emmett barked out a laugh. Reaching down from the sofa, he plucked a spare box of lights from the floor and waved it at her, letting her stumble over to take it with grabbing hands.

"Here you go, Magpie," he chuckled, letting her hug the box to her chest. "You and your shiny stuff, I swear..."

"I _like_ shiny things," said Bella at once, bringing the box to her face to inspect the picture. "Can I put them in my room?"

"Of course you can," said Esme, peeking down from the second floor landing. Evidently, she had been listening in. "Come with me, sweetheart. We'll put them up around your window."

"Okay!" Bella darted away from the tree. "Thanks Emmett!"

"You're welcome," he laughed. "When you come back down, those lights will be on and ready to go. Then we can start on the blue."

"I _love_ blue!" she squealed, bouncing as Esme took her hand. "Esme, Emmett said that Christmas has presents. Is that true?"

"Yes, darling…" Esme led her away up the stairs, and Emmett, shaking his head, let out a sigh. When the child was out of earshot, he leaned back against the armrest, his hands behind his head.

"Well that's fucked up," he said, making Rose frown.

"Language," she scolded.

"Aw, she can't hear me," he reasoned, stretching his legs out on the sofa. Jasper, moving at his preferred speed, wound the lights around the base of the tree with startling swiftness. "But seriously, babe. What kind of kid doesn't know about Christmas?"

"Plenty of them," frowned Rose, tiptoeing through the pine needles littering the floor. "If she wasn't Christian…"

"Don't give me that," he dismissed, shaking his head. "Charles Swan isn't much of_ anything_ when it comes to religion."

"You don't know that," reasoned Rose. "She could be Jewish, or…"

"She's not Jewish," said Emmett. "And even if she was. Even Jewish kids know what Christmas _is."_

Rose sighed.

"Well, she's learning now," she said. "That's what matters, right?"

"Yeah, but for six years…"

"I know," grimaced Rose. Jasper had the second set of lights wound in less than thirty seconds. "But we're going to show her how it is."

"We've got a big job," said Emmett quietly. "I mean, we've got six years of Christmases to make up for…"

"Don't go crazy," said Rose, though she knew her warning would be fruitless. "We don't want to overwhelm her…"

"Sure, babe."

"I'm serious, Emmett," she scolded. "Don't scare her."

"Presents have never scared _anyone,"_ he grinned.

"We don't want to spoil her..."

"Of course we do!" he laughed, sitting back up. "What the hell else is all of _this_," he gestured wildly around the living room, "for, if not to spoil her?"

"I…"

"Oh, let him have his fun," said Alice suddenly, her eyes bright and mischievous. "We haven't had a reason to celebrate in so long, and you know she's going to love it."

"I suppose…"

"Don't even bother, babe," said Emmett, rising to press a kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to spoil the shit out of that kid, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

"_They're so _pretty!"squealed the little voice from upstairs, and Rose's retort was immediately cut short. _"Look Esme! They're all lit up!"_

"_Yes, sweetheart,"_ laughed their mother, and a bright, languid grin wormed its way back onto Emmett's face.

"You done with those lights yet, Jas?" he asked, not even turning to look. "I can't wait to see her face when we get going on that thing."

* * *

"Now remember, sweetheart, we need to save some decorations for the _top_ of the tree, too…"

Esme would have been better off speaking to the wind.

"Look!" Bella had her fingers splayed wide, each one adorned with a shiny metal hook holding a glass Christmas ball. Emmett had helped her do it—Rose had watched in resigned amusement as he had carefully and precisely hung as many balls as her little hands could hold, instructing her to keep her fingers spread wide lest she send them falling to the floor.

Rose was surprised that they'd only lost two so far.

"I see, darling," indulged Esme. "Very nice."

"I'm gonna put them _here."_ She pointed to a spot already cluttered with shimmering blue. "See? That's the blue spot!"

"So it is," laughed Esme. She seemed to be washing her hands of the whole affair—clearly, sensible design had gone out the window in favour of Bella's giddy and enthusiastic response to decorating.

"No, kiddo, here…" Emmett, sensing Esme's losing battle, reached down and plucked her up from the floor, her little feet dangling as he held her out about two feet above his head.

"Put some up there, too. The top half of the tree will be awfully sad if it can't have some blue…"

"Yeah!" The girl began hooking balls onto branches. "You go here, and you go here…"

Rose was glad her husband's arms would not get tired.

"We can rearrange a few after she goes to bed tonight," whispered Rose. "She won't notice so much tomorrow morning…"

"Oh, I plan on it," chuckled Esme, her arms folded as she watched the boys and Bella. Alice had politely bowed down as well, though Rose knew it was killing her not to get her hands in there, but there was something so sweet about the way Emmett and Jasper bowed to her every decorating whim that no one particularly wanted to disrupt them.

"What about this one, Doll?" asked Jasper, grinning. He held out a large silver ball in his hand. Bella stared at it, considering for only a moment, before she pointed to a branch about a foot out of her reach.

"Up there," she decided, reaching down to take it. "I think I can reach…"

Emmett, stretching his arms a little further, hoisted her higher so she could hang the ball.

"Excellent choice," he said, lowering her carefully to the floor again. She rushed to the open bin again, rummaging through. "Any left?"

"Just one!" she cried, emerging with the biggest, shiniest blue ball of the set. "This one needs to go up _there."_

Following her little finger, Rose saw the only empty space left on the whole tree. Excitedly, and with a certain nonchalance that made Rose's heart soar, Bella rushed to Emmett and lifted her arms in plaintive askance, grinning when he reached down to scoop her up again.

"Up we go…" He held her so high above the ground that Rose had to fight down her nerves. Emmett would not drop her— she knew better than to think he would—but there was something about seeing her dangling so high off the ground, her thick, blue cast hanging by her side…

"There!" The ball was in place. "Look! It's so _shiny…"_

"Excellent work, sweet girl," praised Rose, reaching down to hug her once she had her feet back on the ground. "It looks beautiful."

"I know!" Bella's cheeks were flushed pink. "What about the other stuff?"

"We'll get there soon," laughed Rose. "Are you hungry yet? You worked right through lunch."

"No…"

Her stomach betrayed her with a growl.

"Come on," said Esme. "It's time to eat. We can continue after you've had some lunch."

"But…"

"We won't start without you, darlin'," said Jasper. Bella was quickly mollified. "We'll just get some more stuff out of boxes, and then…"

"No!" Her little face fell. "Wait for me!"

"Alright, alright…" Jasper held up his hands in surrender, his eyes flitting amusedly to his wife. "We won't touch a single thing until you've eaten your fill."

"Oh, good," she smiled. The girl enjoyed unpacking boxes of ornaments almost as much as she enjoyed putting them up.

Sitting at the table with her hands full of peanut butter, Bella scarfed down her sandwich more quickly than Rose would have thought possible. The girl was usually a very slow eater—she picked at the bread, licked at the peanut butter, and sometimes, when she felt like it, she spent inordinate amounts of time tearing the crust away from the soft centre. Today, however, Rose hovered behind her chair in serious fear for her safety—she took such big bites and ate so quickly that Rose became convinced that she would choke.

She didn't even ask to rinse her plate—a rarity in itself—before she darted back out to the living room and began disemboweling another box of treasures.

By the time Carlisle got home from work that night, the Cullen home had been transfigured. The pristine yard, once the model of homely comfort, had been transformed into a veritable winter wonderland. An inflatable Santa, purchased for an exorbitant price by an exuberant Emmett the day before, held the place of honour on the front lawn, and a sleigh with nine reindeer—one with a bright red nose—had been erected on the roof. Under Bella's careful watch after supper, the snow in the front yard had been commandeered into snowmen, complete with top hats, carrot noses, and plaid scarves. The entire front of the house had been decorated with bright white Christmas lights, and the large cedar tree on the edge of their driveway had been draped in light-up icicles.

Inside, the scene was much the same. Gone was the stark whiteness and clean, modern lines of the living room. Instead, Carlisle entered to find the monstrous tree decorated in blue and silver, looming in the front window. Mistletoe had been hung liberally in all the doorways, and his wife had covered the white sofa with red cushions to mark the season. Carlisle saw a small, glass nativity set arrayed thoughtfully on the mantle, underneath which hung eight embroidered stockings—one with each family member's name. Someone—Carlisle suspected Emmett—had set up a miniature train set on a table in the corner, which was winding its way through fluffy snow around mountains and pine trees.

"Hello?" he called, breathing in the familiar, homey scent of cinnamon. "Is anyone home?"

"Hello, dear," said Esme, her voice low as she poked her head out of the living room. "Come and see what we've done. But be careful… Bella is sleeping."

"So early?" asked Carlisle, checking his wristwatch. "It's not even seven thirty…"

"She hasn't stopped all day," said Esme fondly, gesturing behind her. "But come and see. She tried to wait up for you…"

Taking off his boots, Carlisle padded to the living room in his sock feet. The sight was a treat—his wife and children looked every bit the picture of a happy family. Emmett and Rosalie sat on the loveseat, noses pressed together in quiet conversation. Jasper, standing off to the side near the Christmas tree, was watching the group with a certain calm amusement that Carlisle so rarely saw in him. Alice, legs folded on the sofa, was smiling, running her hand carefully through Bella's hair as she slumbered, curled under Esme's knitted afghan. Bella had her head in Alice's lap, and Carlisle could clearly see the remnants of hot chocolate and what looked to be a plate of cookies.

"Good evening," he said mildly, slipping in to take a closer look at things. "I take it today went well?"

"Oh, she had so much fun," said Rose at once, and Carlisle was pleased to see the genuine joy on her face. "She commandeered the decorating, but we were able to fix the worst of it when she fell asleep…"

"I think it looks lovely," said Carlisle honestly, eying up the towering, glimmering tree. "It's blue… I'm sure she loved it."

"Oh, she did," said Esme at once. "Wait until tomorrow. I'm sure she'll want to give you a blow by blow of the whole thing."

"I'm sure she will."

Sitting on the other end of the sofa with the child's feet in his lap, Carlisle was hard-pressed to remember a time when they had all spent an evening like this—simply being, together, in contented harmony.

* * *

"You're saying that a man is going to come down that chimney to bring me stuff?" Bella's voice, dubious even through her excitement, was uncertain.

"That's exactly what I'm saying!" said Emmett. Rose could only smirk. "I'm serious. That's how it works."

"Why didn't he come to daddy's house?"

"There wasn't a chimney," Emmett invented. "He needs to come down one of those, remember?"

"So only kids with chimneys get to see him?"

"No, you don't _see_ him…" Emmett sighed. "You just get things _from _him."

"That sounds weird."

"No, it's magical…" In a desperate attempt to make her believe, Emmett wiggled his fingers in her face. Rose thought they looked like exaggerated jazz hands—something she never thought she'd see him do—and she let out a loud snicker.

"Shut up, Rose," he chuckled, turning to glare at her as Bella, grinning, clapped her hands together.

Emmett didn't even have to ask why she was so gleeful as he fished out a five dollar bill, slapping it into her hand.

"That's not one," complained Bella, holding the bill back out to him. "One bad word equals _one_ dollar."

"Think of it as advance payment," bargained Emmett. "I'm bound to say some other stupid thing…"

"Okay!" Bella pocketed the money with an easy grin.

The child loved hoarding the cash she earned from Emmett's foul mouth.

"But anyways," continued Emmett, "you're going to go to bed…"

"Five more sleeps!" she chirped.

"Yeah, in five more sleeps, you're going to go to bed, and Santa is going to come down the chimney and…"

"Will be be scared of the roof?"

"What?"

"There's already reindeer up there," said Bella, pulling her covers up to her chin. "What if the _real_ reindeer get spooked?"

"They won't," dismissed Emmett. "But—"

"But what if they _do?"_"

"They _won't_," promised Emmett. "Trust me. But…"

"Is he going to bring _you_ something too?"

"Maybe—"

"And how does he know that I've been good?"

"He has a list…"

"Is he a spy?" Her little eyes roved suspiciously around her bedroom. "Can he see me because I put those lights in the window?"

"No…"

"Can he see me _through_ the window?"

"He sees everything—"

"That's _weird!"_ she complained, a grimace on her face. "Why would he…?"

Emmett, snorting, clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Shush and let me finish the story," he said, laughing when her eyes went wide. When he took his hand off of her mouth, she kept it resolutely closed, her eyes fixed on his face.

"There," he laughed. "So as I was saying…"

"Santa Claus comes from the North Pole to visit every good kid at Christmas," cut in Rose. "He comes down the chimney with a bag of gifts, and…"

"Shush, woman!" Emmett was nearly shouting. "Go away. This is _my_ story."

"Fine!" Rose raised her hands in surrender, but did not back out of the room. "But get on with it. Keep drawing it out any longer and she's liable to have fifty more questions to ask."

"Yeah, yeah… so as I was saying…"

Bella sat up a little straighter.

"On Christmas Eve, Santa gets his list together of all the good boys and girls in the world."

"But…"

Emmett raised an eyebrow. Bella bit her lip.

"Go ahead," he sighed, conceding her interruption. "What is it this time?"

"How many kids is that?" she asked.

"Lots."

"Does he have time to get to them all?"

"Of course."

"How?"

"Magic."

"But…"

"But when he comes," Emmett cut in, "he brings presents. He knows what you want because you wrote him a letter—do you remember writing yours?"

"Yeah," nodded Bella. "Esme and I did it at school time."

"Right," winked Emmett. "So when she mailed that…"

"She mailed it?"

"Of course!" Emmett smiled. In truth, both he and Rose knew that Bella's first Santa letter was sitting in Esme's bedroom bureau, and had been carefully transcribed for a number of shopping trips into Seattle.

"And now that he knows what you want, he comes to leave you presents on Christmas morning."

"Why does he put things in a sock?"

"Because he does," said Emmett dismissively. "He gives you a stocking full of awesome stuff, and then some presents for you to open after breakfast."

"What about adults?" asked Bella.

"Adults get presents too," said Emmett, "but not from Santa."

"From who?"

"From other adults," he said. "Or kids, or brothers, or sisters…"

"Oh."

"You and I," he winked, "are going shopping tomorrow to find some things for the rest of these yahoos."

He pointed rudely at Rose. Bella giggled.

"Not with Alice?" she asked.

"Hell no."

"That's three dollars left."

"I know."

"Are we going to Seattle?"

"Yes."

"After Miss Williams comes?"

"Yes," said Emmett again, shaking his head. "Although why she's insisting on coming so close to the holidays, I'll never know…"

"Anyways," Rose pointedly cut in, refusing to allow Emmett to criticize the social worker in front of Bella. "If that's all your questions, baby, then it's time for sleep."

"Will you leave the lights on?"

"Of course," smiled Rose. Bella had grown strangely attached to the Christmas lights Esme had graciously tacked up around her large, bright window, and had asked for them to be left on almost every night since. Rose had caught Alice making plans for the post-Christmas season—she was sure there was some scheme involving a canopy and fairy lights to replace them once they had to be put away.

"Thank you. Night night Rosalie."

"Goodnight, honey."

"Night night Emmett."

"Sleep tight, kiddo."

* * *

"That tree is very lovely, Isabella."

"Yeah."

"Did you help decorate it?"

"Yeah."

"And what about that mistletoe?"

"Mhm…"

"Are you looking forward to Christmas?"

"Yeah."

"Is Santa going to visit you?"

"Emmett says so."

"That's wonderful."

"Mhm."

"Do you have any questions for me?"

"No."

"Are you excited to meet the Alaskan cousins?"

"I dunno…"

"You seem antsy, sweetheart."

"No."

"No?"

"No," said Bella again, shaking her head. "It's only that me and Emmett are going to go to Seattle to buy presents today."

"Oh. For who?"

"For everyone else," shrugged Bella, glancing conspiratorially behind her. "He says I can pick stuff out and put my name in the "from" spot on the tags."

"How lovely."

"Mhm."

"How's school going? I saw some of the work you've done…"

"Good."

"Are you liking it here at home?"

"Yeah."

"Are you learning lots?"

"Mhm."

"Mrs. Cullen tells me you've been happy."

"Yeah."

"And I spoke with Doctor Jordan."

Bella's head snapped up.

"No, no," Shirelle spoke quickly, shaking her head. "Don't be alarmed. She didn't tell me anything private."

"Oh."

"She just wanted me to know that you've been doing wonderfully well ever since you started homeschooling."

Bella said nothing. Neither human knew that Rosalie was lurking just out of sight in the kitchen—she was supposed to be upstairs with the rest of her siblings—but she just had to make sure that Bella would not be upset by this woman and her incessant questioning.

Bella's first Christmas would not be jeopardized by insensitive prattle.

"Well, if that's all," sighed Shirelle, taking another surreptitious look around the room, "I suppose I'll leave you to your shopping."

"Okay."

"I'm happy that you're doing well here," she said finally, offering Bella her hand to shake. "Thank you for speaking with me."

"You're welcome," replied Bella politely. "Merry Christmas."

"You too, sweetheart," smiled Shirelle. "Now I'll just go and say goodbye to your parents…"

"Leaving already?" asked Carlisle poking his head out of the music room. "All well, Bella?"

"Yeah, I'm good," replied Bella easily, bouncing off the couch. "Can I go and find Emmett now? We're supposed to leave soon."

"Of course, darling," chuckled Carlisle. "You go and have fun."

"I will!" called Bella, loping up the stairs. "Emmett! Carlisle says we can go now!"

Rose heard her husband shout back at her from their bedroom.

"Thank you for having me, Doctor," said Shirelle. "I'm pleased she's adapting so well."

"Of course," said Carlisle. "Did you expect any less?"

"No, but it is refreshing. She's a completely different girl."

"She is," agreed Carlisle. "Especially since her cast was taken off…"

Just the day before, Carlisle had carried Bella through the emergency room doors at the hospital to have the on-call doctor remove the blue cast on her arm. It still surprised Rose to think that only eight weeks ago, Bella had only just become a part of their lives.

How quickly the weeks had passed.

"Is your wife here, Doctor?" asked Shirelle quietly, breaking Rosalie from her thoughts.

"She's upstairs. Shall I grab her?"

"If you don't mind," said Shirelle. "I'm afraid this visit kills two birds with one stone."

"Oh?"

"Of course I was due for a check-in with Isabella, but I also have an update on her father's criminal case."

"Indeed." Carlisle's voice was dry. "Let me just step out for a moment and grab my wife…"

Shirelle, her hands folded tightly in her lap, waited patiently as Carlisle ascended the stairs.

"Esme!"

"Here, dear," said Esme, coming down from the second floor. Behind her were Emmett and Bella, both wrapped tightly in winter parkas. Emmett had stuffed Bella into a woolen hat, a scarf, and a set of mittens as well, and all Rose could see of her face were her eyes and little snub nose as he carried her.

"We're off!" said Emmett. Rose was thankful—whatever news Shirelle would have for Carlisle and Esme, she was sure it would do Bella no good to overhear. No matter what she said—for good or for ill—Rose wanted to make sure that nothing about the girl's holiday was tainted by the memory of that man.

Only once Bella was safely ensconced in Emmett's monstrous Hummer—the winter version of the Jeep he loved so much—did Shirelle begin to speak.

"It's nothing terrible," she insisted, holding her hands up in quick surrender. "I promise. No bad holiday news."

"Go on." Carlisle's voice was low.

"The trial date has been set," said Shirelle gently. "He's had his preliminary hearings…"

"I would have liked to attend," said Carlisle at once, his eyes narrowing. "Why weren't we told?"

"It was quick and easy," soothed Shirelle. "He pled not guilty, and so the case will go to trial."

"When?"

"January 20," she replied. "In the new year."

"I see."

"It will take place at King County District Court in Seattle, and Judge Gary Palmer is overseeing."

"Has he retained counsel?" demanded Carlisle.

"State appointed," said Shirelle at once. "He had a small claims lawyer here in town, but from my understanding, he failed to pay his fees."

"Who's representing Bella?"

"We've got a litigator on standby to handle her case," said Shirelle. "It's pretty cut and dry, if I do say so myself…"

"I'll have our lawyer, Jason Jenks, take care of her."

"Doctor, the state cannot pay for…"

"I'm not asking you to _pay_ for him," scoffed Carlisle. "I'm telling you that I'm going to make sure that this child has the best possible chance in court."

"Judge Palmer is…"

"Eager to reunite families, as you so pointedly reminded us on your last visit," said Carlisle. "I won't have that happening under my watch."

"The court is going to act in the best interests of the child," said Shirelle softly. "They would never presume to return that little girl to a dangerous situation…"

"Be that as it may," said Esme, "we have the right to retain counsel if we so choose. I'm not taking any chances with that girl. Thank you for letting us know, Miss Williams."

"Yes, of course…" The woman was flustered. Rose felt vindicated. "I suppose I'll let our lawyer know to expect a call."

"Indeed." Carlisle offered her a hand. "Thank you for coming."

"Yes, yes…" Shirelle stood up. "If you have no further questions, I'll just…" She pointed to the door.

"No, thank you." Esme smiled sweetly at her. "We'll see you in the new year, Miss Williams."

"Have a good holiday," said Shirelle, slipping into her boots. "I'll be sure to call with any new developments."

"Please do."

The woman slid out into the cold, snowy yard.

"Excellent," said Rose at once, exposing her eavesdropping. Carlisle did not look surprised—he was smiling wryly at her when she left the kitchen—but shook his head nonetheless.

"I should have known," he chuckled. "You don't trust that woman at all, do you?"

"Not one bit," agreed Rose cheerfully. "I wasn't about to let her ruin Bella's Christmas, so I decided to keep watch."

"So you did," he said dryly.

"I wonder," began Esme, "how much damage Emmett is going to do now that we've set him loose with that child in a mall?"

"Oh, who knows?" said Rose, sitting next to her mother. "I tried to stop him, you know…"

"I do know," laughed Esme. She had been privy to the whispered bargaining and pleading that had gone on not even two nights before. "That boy is obstinate—I don't think I've ever seen him this excited to go into a store."

"I know," grimaced Rose. "I warned him to keep it low-key, but…"

"It's Emmett," finished Carlisle with a laugh. "Of course he's not going to keep it low-key. That boy is almost as bad as his sister."

"Hey!" Alice shouted from the upper floor. "I resent that!"

"You know we love you," said Carlisle at once, "but don't even try to deny that you've got a spending problem."

"Oh whatever, _Dad_," scoffed Alice, earning her a snort from Jasper. "You don't mind it so much when my _spending_ makes us rich on the stock market!"

Carlisle could only shake his head.

"What time are we expecting our guests?" asked Esme quietly, glancing at the clock.

"Sometime after dinner," said Carlisle. "Their flight gets in to Port Angeles at 4:30, and they'll rent a car from there."

"I'm so glad they're coming," sighed Esme, a small, happy smile crossing her lips. "It's so rare that we spend any time together when we're not up in Alaska…"

"I know," said Carlisle. "Carmen and Eleazar are particularly interested in our new arrival."

"Any word from Edward?" asked Rose quietly. "We tried calling him, but…"

"None," sighed Carlisle. "I expect he's out of range. I don't doubt he'll make some kind of contact before the actual day, but it would be foolish of us to expect him here."

"I suppose," sighed Rose. It would be strange, no matter how necessary, to spend the holiday season without her brother. Though they rarely celebrated anymore, it had always been a kind of tradition to spend Christmas Eve together as a family before going off in separate directions on Christmas Day. Rose could not help but think how nice it would be if Edward could be here to play some holiday carols on the unused, dusty grand piano…

Rose could play well enough, she knew, but somehow, it felt sacrilegious to interfere with Edward's music.

"We'll make the best of it," said Carlisle gently. "It's not the first holiday he's missed, and I'm sure it won't be the last."

"Yeah," said Rose.

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"But you know…" Rose began to snigger.

"What?" asked Esme.

"Tanya's not going to be happy when she gets here," blurted Rose. All at once she imagined the surly face of their Alaskan "cousin"—the woman was an succubus if Rose ever knew one, and she'd had her heart set on Edward ever since the human she had been involved with ten years prior had moved on.

"Oh, Rosalie," scolded Esme, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Don't be crass."

"I didn't say a thing!" said Rose, raising her hands in surrender. "It's not my fault she's on the hunt for Edward's…"

"Rose!"

Rose fell silent, pursing her lips as she tried not to laugh.

"Tanya will be a model houseguest, I'm sure," said Carlisle quickly. "She's the leader of their coven, after all…"

"In name only," scoffed Rose. "We all know Carmen's the one who captains that ship."

"Yes, well…" Carlisle shook his head. "The Denalis have only ever been courteous. They're our closest friends—they're family, really—and they've agreed to come to meet our newest member."

"Bella," smiled Rose.

"They're bound to love her just as we do," breathed Esme. "Carmen, for one, has always loved children…"

Rose, without a doubt, knew this to be true. She knew that Carmen, the one Denali that was so like the Cullens' own mother it sometimes startled them, would fall for Bella as quickly and easily as Esme herself had. And where Carmen went, her husband followed, though Rose was less sure of how Bella would react to Eleazar's stoic, silent calm. The sisters—Tanya, Kate, and Irina—were affable enough, and she was sure that once they got to know Bella, they would find her charming and sweet.

And even if they didn't, Rose knew they would never be rude enough to say otherwise.

* * *

Without Bella in the house, Rose found that the rest of the afternoon went by in a slow, almost painful procession. Taking advantage of her absence, Rose, Alice, and Esme enclosed themselves in Rose and Emmett's bedroom with wrapping paper, tape, bows, and tags, and took the time to wrap each of the gifts the family had purchased for Bella over the past few weeks. It was extraordinary, really—Rose had been so insistent that no one go overboard, yet she, herself, was one of the worst culprits. Rose had a niggling fear that if they went too far over the top that Bella would be overwhelmed, though she knew that with Jasper's gift and Emmett's childlike Christmas enthusiasm, true holiday panic would be nearly impossible.

By the time they finished, Rose's closet was full to bursting with piles of colourful packages. They had wrapped games and toys, books and clothes… anything and everything the girl had expressed an interest in could be found under piles of wrapping paper in Rosalie's walk-in closet.

"Well, that's that," smiled Alice, scooping up tape and bits of scrap paper. "I can't wait to see what Emmett comes back with…"

"Have you already looked?" asked Rose wryly, knowing all too well her sister's inability to keep her curiosity at bay.

"If you must know," she sniffed, "I haven't. I promised Emmett I wouldn't, and I thought it would be fun to keep it a surprise this year."

"Well, good luck with that," snorted Rose. Alice looked affronted. "We'll see how long you last."

"Challenge accepted!" she crowed, her hands on her hips. "Just because I _don't_ butt out doesn't mean I _can't."_

Rosalie shook her head.

"They're coming up the driveway!" called Jasper suddenly, his voice echoing up the stairs.

"I win," smirked Alice. "I _told_ Emmett he'd be later than them…"

Rose rolled her eyes.

The living room, having been impeccably tidied by Carlisle and Jasper, was lit by the soft glow from the Christmas tree and the warm, roaring fire in the grate. Carlisle, laid-back with an old novel from his study, had embraced the holiday spirit by lighting a cinnamon-scented candle on the coffee table. Jasper waited with his hands behind his back at the window, his blonde head peeking around the curtains to watch the slow procession of the black SUV along the icy, winding path.

"I suppose we could have salted," he murmured, watching the car slow as it moved around the bends.

"They're coming from Alaska," laughed Alice. "They know how to drive on ice."

"True…"

Rose repressed the urge to roll her eyes… it seemed that the presence of their little human had them reverting to old human sentiments—even if that car rolled over into a ditch, not one of the Denali cousins would come away harmed.

Rose saw Carmen first. Almost before the car had even pulled to a stop, the front passenger door flew open and out popped the tall, slender woman Rose knew from their years up north. She had always gotten along exceedingly well with Carmen—she did not bicker with her like she did with Tanya—and as soon as her knock sounded on the door, Rose was quick to pry it open.

"Oh, Rosalie!" said Carmen, enveloping her in a tight, affectionate hug. "It's been far too long."

"Carmen," smiled Rose. "Come in. Shall we help with the bags?"

"Oh, no…" Carmen brushed her off. "Never mind that. Where is your beautiful niña?"

Carmen, eager, peeked around Rose's shoulder to scan the rest of the family.

"She's out right now," explained Rose, stepping aside to let the other four in. "We expect them back soon… Emmett took her to Seattle for her Christmas shopping."

"Ah, that boy," laughed Carmen, stepping forward to hug Esme next. "What kinds of mischief has he gotten into so far?"

"Nothing horrible yet," said Carlisle. "We're all waiting for the other shoe to drop…"

"Thank you for having us, Carlisle, Esme." Eleazar removed his gloves. "It's been a while since we spent a holiday together, no?"

"Oh yes," said Carmen at once, slipping out of her snow boots. "Quite a while. _Too_ long, I say."

"I absolutely agree," said Esme. "But come inside. We've got a fire going…"

"And a marvelous tree, I see," said Kate. She dusted her snowy jacket on the porch. "I could see it shining all the way down the driveway."

"Not our usual accoutrements, I know," said Carlisle, "but with Bella here…"

"Ah, yes," smiled Kate. "I figured as much. From what I understand, she needs a little joy in her life."

"She's been doing so well," said Esme proudly, standing aside to let their guests through. Jasper and Alice, who had not come to crowd the door, were waiting, heads bent, by the fireplace. When Carmen caught sight of them she hugged them as well—Alice received her with warmth, and Jasper with a little awkwardness.

He had never been one for hugging.

"Come in, come in," said Carlisle, ushering the three sisters in behind Carmen and Eleazar. "Have a seat."

At once, the five of them obeyed.

"I hope you don't mind, Esme," began Irina, speaking for the first time since entering the house, "but we couldn't help ourselves."

Esme, politely curious, raised an eyebrow.

"We brought gifts for the baby," she said quickly, her hands clasped together. "It's been ever so long since any of us had an occasion to shop for a little one…"

"She's hardly a baby, Irina," said Kate. "The girl is what… six? Seven?"

"Six," confirmed Carlisle. "And of course we don't mind. I'm sure she'll love it, whatever it is."

"We thought Bébé might enjoy painting," said Carmen at once. "I remembered how you love it, Esme, and we thought it might be something you could do together."

"What a lovely idea," said Esme at once, and Rose saw the genuine joy on her face. "I'm sure Bella will love it."

"What a lovely name, Bella…" mused Carmen idly. "Don't you think, darling?"

"Of course," acquiesced Eleazar. "A charming name for a charming child, I'm sure…"

"And here she is!" chirped Alice, her head snapping up at the rumble of Emmett's Hummer.

The mood in the room shifted almost at once—it went from calm and peaceful to energetic and curious in an instant. Just as Alice had moved from the front window, Tanya took her place, her bright, golden eyes fixed on the vehicle rumbling down the path. Rose saw Carmen take Eleazar's hand—she wasn't entirely sure that the newcomer would not steal Bella away for herself once the girl came in—and Kate and Irina peeked out over their sister's shoulder.

"She's a little thing…" remarked Tanya, eying the child as Emmett helped her down from the back seat. "And what a sweetheart Emmett is, taking her shopping…"

Rose bit her tongue.

"But I don't see…" Tanya's brow furrowed. Rose did not give her the chance to finish her sentence—instead, she made her way to the door and swung it open, her face a mask of excited anticipation.

"There you are!" she said, accepting Bella's bounding hug as she rushed through the door. Her eyes were bright and glassy—she had evidently been worn out—but her cheeks were rosy and warm, and her smile, wide.

"I got so much stuff!" she giggled, pressing a kiss to Rose's cheek. "Emmett let me buy presents for _everyone!_ Even _him!" _She pointed back at her shopping companion.

Rose snorted—leave it to Emmett to choose his own gift, using the child as an excuse.

"And even the… new people," she finished awkwardly. "I asked about it, and he said I could." Rose helped her take off her boots. "And then we got them wrapped at the mall by a lady in a funny sweater. Emmett said it was ugly, but I thought it was nice. It had lots of blue on it, and a moose. Or maybe it was a deer…"

Rose carried her into the living room.

"And after, Emmett said _six_ naughty words, so I got four extra dollars. Because he said three here and gave me five dollars, so that means that he had two dollars left over. And _I _know that six bad words minus two dollars means _four_ dollars."

"Our guests have…"

"And_ then,"_ Bella interrupted, "we went and got tacos. I never had tacos before, Rosalie. Did you ever have one? Emmett didn't finish his so I got to, and then I was very full. And he let me drink his Coke, even though it was past suppertime. But he said not to tell you…"

Emmett rolled his eyes as he slipped out of his jacket.

"Remind me never to give you sugar after dark again," he chuckled. "She's all hopped up, babe."

"I've noticed," muttered Rose. "But listen, sweetheart…"

"And Emmett said I can put the presents under the tree before I go to sleep tonight. Is that true, Rosalie? Because I'd like to put them there… they'd look so pretty. You should _see_ the pretty thing I found for you. It's a…"

"No!" cried Emmett, his hand on her mouth again. "Presents are secret, remember?"

"Oh yeah," she giggled. "But it _is_ very pretty. And it's got something _other_ than blue."

"I'll bet it does." Rose carried her into the living room. "We've got some people to introduce you to, honey…"

"Did you know that all kinds of things are blue?" continued Bella, bouncing in Rose's arms as if she hadn't heard a word. "Emmett said that Esme's got a blue car. Is that true, Rosalie? I've never seen it. Why isn't your car blue? When_ I_ get big enough to drive, I'll make sure my car is blue… oh."

Rose laughed.

"These are our cousins, baby, that we were telling you about," said Rose, stopping in the center of the living room. Five sets of strange eyes were glued on Bella, all inquisitive and all curious.

Bella hid her face in Rose's shoulder, her cheeks suddenly hot.

"I forgot," she whispered, her arms squeezing Rose's neck. "Are they looking at me, Rosalie?"

Immediately, Carmen stood up.

"Hello, Bella," she said gently, crouching down behind Rose to see the child's face. "My, what a pretty girl you are."

If at all possible, Bella blush grew even darker.

"Thank you," she mumbled. Rose felt her biting her lip.

"My name is Carmen," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you." In a display of solidarity, Carmen held out her white, slender hand towards Bella.

Her rings—numerous and impressive—caught the firelight.

"Those are pretty," said Bella at once, her eyes lifting to stare at the glittering gems. "I got a jewel too. Alice gave it to me."

"Is that so?" laughed Carmen. Bella shook her hand. "Do you like my rings, niña?"

"Uh huh…" Tentatively, Bella's little finger stroked the surface of one of Carmen's diamonds. "They're _shiny…"_

"That kid is a damn magpie, I swear to god," laughed Emmett, cutting in for the first time since his entrance. Gasping, Bella shot up in Rose's arms, her eyes alight with mischievous glee.

"That's _another_ one," she gloated, her small, chubby hand held out in askance. "If you don't stop saying rude words, that weird chimney guy isn't going to give you _anything."_

"He is is not a weird chimney guy," protested Emmett, forking over a crumpled dollar bill. "He's _Santa."_

Bella shrugged.

"There are others here as well," prompted Rose, forcing Bella to look around. "Carmen you've met, but we've also got Eleazar, Tanya, Kate, and Irina."

Bella stared, her eyes flickering between the four others with careful, almost guarded, interest.

"What a special girl," said Carmen, and Rose saw her arms reach out. "Just _look _at you…"

"She certainly is special," agreed Esme, rising to her feet. "Can you say hello, Bella? Our cousins have come a long way to meet you."

"Hello," said Bella dutifully, though her cheeks had reddened and she was biting her lip again.

"May I hold you, Bella niña?" asked Carmen, her soft, lilting voice enticing Bella forward. With a careful shrug and a cautionary glance at Rosalie, Bella allowed Rose to surrender her into Carmen's arms instead. Bella did not settle as easily with the newcomer as she did her family, but she went without complaint, allowing Carmen to take her over to the sofa.

"You precious thing," she cooed, almost reverently, as she settled Bella on her lap. "Tell me, lovely, what did you put on your list for Santa Claus?"

"Well…" Bella hesitated. "I put a new board game. And I asked for some books. I like books."

"Reading is a wonderful hobby," agreed Carmen. "What else?"

"I dunno…" Her brow furrowed as she thought. "I asked for a baby doll."

"A baby doll?" Carmen grinned. "What kind?"

"A cute one," shrugged Bella. "And _blue."_

"A blue baby doll?"

"Blue _clothes," _said Bella at once. "Like mine. See?"

She pointed down at the skirt of her blue dress.

"Blue's my favourite."

"So I see," laughed Carmen. "I like blue too."

Bella beamed, settling in a little closer.

"And…"

"Where is Edward, if you don't mind my asking?" Interrupted Tanya suddenly. Rose could almost feel the eye-roll coming on—she knew her cousin's silence was too good to last—but she was overtaken by Kate, who scoffed.

"Never mind where he is," she said scornfully. "You saw him less than six weeks ago."

"And it was my impression that he was returning home," said Tanya. "He said he was needed here…"

"We had a bit of a complication." Carlisle's eyes flickered to Bella, who was watching the interaction with interest. "It's best if we wait until our little ears have gone to bed."

"I'm not little!" protested Bella, her lower lip stuck out. "I'm a big girl! You even said so."

"So I did," he pacified, smiling indulgently at her. "I apologize. You're very right—you are growing into a very big girl."

Bella sniffed.

"Edward's gone to Hong Kong," she said promptly, earning her a confused frown. Rose suppressed her giggle. "He said so when he was in…_Austrolalia."_

"Australia," corrected Esme. "That's right, darling. Edward has gone on a trip."

"Why on earth would Edward go to China?" asked Tanya. "And Australia?"

"I asked him too. And he said he was sick… kind of." Bella's brow furrowed as she recalled their phone conversation. "But he said I'd get a picture to make it better."

"Make what better?" Tanya's eyes flickered to Carlisle.

"Dunno," shrugged Bella, toying with the ends of Carmen's long, dark hair. "He was gonna smack, I think…"

"Smack?" Tanya went suddenly still. "You don't expect me to believe that Edward would have sought to harm a child?"

"Jasper smacked _him_ first," supplied Bella unhelpfully, her little eyes alight. "So Edward didn't _really_ smack…"

"Edward had difficulty coping," rushed Carlisle, speaking up before Bella could say anything more. "We had to make… alternate arrangements."

"Well," sniffed Tanya, glancing awkwardly at Bella. "He could have come to us, of course…"

"I think he needed some time alone," said Carlisle. "It was difficult for him to come upon her so unexpectedly…"

"What do you mean?"

"We'll discuss it later," said Carlisle. "But for now… Bella, what would you say to some popcorn?"

"Oh! Yes please!" She bounced out of Carmen's lap. "Can you do it on the stove? You do it the_ best…"_

"Certainly," said Carlisle, taking her hand. "Let's go to the kitchen…"

She went without complaint.

"Are you telling me that _that_ little child is Edward's singer?" asked Eleazar, his voice low and gravelly as soon as Bella was out of earshot. "What an extraordinary coincidence."

"We don't know for sure." Jasper spoke up. "None of us have actually experienced it, after all…"

"Well, it might make sense," reasoned Eleazar. "Given what she is."

"What do you mean?" demanded Rose. Her guard had risen almost at once. "What are you talking about?"

Eleazar turned to her with mild interest.

"I mean," he began, "that the child is extraordinarily gifted."

"What?"

"Did Edward not say he couldn't read her?" asked Eleazar mildly. "One would think that he would have brought it up…"

"No," said Esme at once. Rose saw Carlisle freeze as he listened in, and Bella began to tug on his shirt. "He never said a word."

"Strange," mused Eleazar. "The child obviously has no idea, but when she was sitting with Carmen, I was able to get a good read on her."

"And?"

"And, nothing," said Eleazar. He leaned around to look into the kitchen. "I saw nothing."

"That could simply mean that there's _nothing_ special about her," reasoned Jasper quietly. "Picking up _nothing_ doesn't indicate the presence of _something."_

"Never, in all my three hundred years, have I read _nothing_ from someone who is ungifted," said Eleazar. "There is a baseline for the average person—I've grown quite familiar with it over the years—and I'm telling you. That child is gifted."

"She's human and she's six years old," complained Rose. "How can she be _anything?"_

"Look at the Volturi twins," said Eleazar simply. "Physically, they're still in childhood—they were only twelve or thirteen at the time of their change—but even as humans they had extraordinarily advanced gifts that set them apart."

"Gifted how?" Rose voiced the question they were all nervous to ask. "What does that mean for her?" Images of Alice, imprisoned in an asylum for seeing thing she shouldn't, flooded her mind…

"She's a shield," said Eleazar at once. "And a powerful one, if my own gift is correct."

"A shield?"

"A mental block," explained Eleazar. "Not a physical shield, but her mind is near impossible to crack."

Esme frowned.

"Is it harmful?" she worried, watching the child bouncing at her husband's side. Carlisle had the pot of oil heating on the stove. "Is she in danger?"

"Oh no, Esme." Eleazar went to stand beside her. From his new vantage point, he could see Bella as she fidgeted. "Not at all. She probably doesn't even know she's special."

The popcorn began to pop.

"But if Edward couldn't read her…"

"Then?" prompted Emmett.

"Then," Eleazar turned to him, "the lack of a human voice—the lack of _conscience_ that might come with being deaf to her thoughts— might have contributed to his _lapse."_ He chose his words carefully.

"Ooh…" Bella's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Can you put butter on it?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

"Yum…"

"Don't worry for her, Esme," said Eleazar softly. "The child may be gifted, but she is beautiful and loved. You've done a wonderful job with her—she is thriving under your care, and I don't see any reason why this gift would prevent that from continuing."

Rose didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she let out a long, suffering sigh.

"Regardless," she said, putting an end to this strange and sudden discussion, "Edward has left us for the time being. I'm sure we'll hear from him while you're here, but we don't expect him to drop by. It would be too dangerous…"

"Indeed," agreed Irina, nodding. "Of course the child's safety must come first."

Bella returned then, her arms filled with a large silver bowl. Carlisle had outdone himself—there was more popcorn in that bowl than Bella could hope to eat in a week, but as she held it carefully in her arms, Rose understood her scheme. Over the past week, she had grown almost _desperate_ to see them eat—something they had been stoutly and steadfastly avoiding.

"I can share," she said at once, holding the bowl out shyly towards Carmen. "Carlisle made me lots."

"Indeed…" Carmen's smile was glued in place. "Thank you, sweetheart."

And with a practiced slight of hand, Bella didn't even notice when Carmen's piece slipped past her mouth and fell into the sleeve of her sweater.

"Is it yummy?" she asked, taking a handful for herself before she passed the bowl around. "Carlisle always makes it yummy…"

"The best," winked Carmen. "Thank you for sharing, sweetheart."

"You're welcome," chirped Bella. "Emmett?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Can I do the presents now?"

"Of course you can." He took her by the hand. "And while we're gone, everyone else can enjoy their treat…"

Everyone—Carlisle and Esme included—took a deliberately large, generous handful of popcorn and made a show of settling back in. Rose hated fooling her—she was so proud of sharing—but she would not, under any circumstances, ruin her evening by vomiting popcorn in the upstairs bathroom.

* * *

Four days after the arrival of their guests, and three days since Bella had become Carmen's constant shadow, the family rose with the sun to find a layer of new, crisp snow blanketing the front yard. The snowmen Emmett had made that evening all those weeks ago were buried up to their waists in white fluff, and the inflatable Santa, still swaying in the wind, was cloaked in six inches of white on his head and outstretched arms. Rose was sure that if she went out to look she would find the rooftop sleigh nearly invisible, and though Emmett had gone outside to create reindeer hoof prints in the snow the night before, she was sure they would be buried.

Still, when the child found the half-eaten carrots left out next to the milk and cookies, Rose was sure her little heart would soar.

"It's already seven," groaned Emmett, sitting impatiently on the edge of the sofa. The entire family had been up for hours. Although they did not sleep, the family made a point of dividing off into their respective couplings during nighttime hours. Rose, in particular, enjoyed spending the evening in her bed, taking the time to meditate and think. She supposed it was a kind of sleep—there was an unspoken rule that you were not to be bothered, and she knew that everyone, her father included, tried to take a break for at least a few hours each night.

So today, when Emmett had grown antsy just after five in the morning, Rose had forced herself to rise with him to ensure that everything was in its proper place for Christmas morning.

There was a cheery fire glowing in the grate—Carlisle had been sure to relight it just as soon as Bella fell asleep. Bella's stocking, hanging heavily in front of the fire, was full to the brim with treats, toys, and crafts—all of which were Esme's doing. The gifts under tree were bordering on ridiculous—even though the tree they had selected was massive, the gifts would not all fit underneath. There were gifts piled on the side wall, collected under the windowsill, and even one, which looked suspiciously like a bicycle, resting by the front entranceway.

"Let her sleep," advised Rose. "The poor girl was exhausted last night…"

"It's not my fault she wouldn't sleep," grumbled Emmett. "Honestly, of all things to worry about…"

"_What if he gets burned?" Bella was sitting up in bed, clutching her sheets. "Emmett said he's magic, but that's _fire…"

"_Bella, he's not going to get burned," said Rosalie, exasperated. "But he can't come at all until you fall asleep."_

"_But if I fall asleep and he _does_ get burned, then I'll get on the naughty list."_

"_Santa will be perfectly safe."_

"_But what if Carlisle forgets?"_

"_Carlisle won't light the fire until morning," promised Rose. "He knows not to do anything that might hurt someone."_

"_But…"_

"_Rest your eyes, Bella."_

"_What if you don't like my present?"_

"_I'll love your present."_

"_But what if…"_

"_Sleep time, baby, please…"_

"_But Rose…"_

"I know," sighed Rose, unable to help her smile. "But she only fell asleep after midnight. So give her some time to sleep in."

"She'll wake up in ten minutes," said Alice. "Honestly, Emmett, you're worse than she is."

Emmett simply waggled his eyebrows, ignoring the titters from Tanya.

"I'll go and get her," sighed Carlisle, rolling his eyes. "God only knows what'll happen if I let _you_ go up…"

His gaze was fixed on Emmett before he zipped up the stairs.

"_Merry Christmas, darling."_ They could hear Carlisle as he sat on the edge of her bed. _"Are you awake?"_

"_Did Santa come?"_ replied Bella groggily. Rose could hear her rubbing her eyes. _"Is it morning?"_

"_Yes, it's morning, and yes, I think he did come…"_

A gasp, and the patter of little feet on the wooden floor.

"Oh, that's precious," smiled Kate, listening as Bella began to rush down the stairs. Emmett was sitting on the edge of his seat. "It's nice to see her so excited…"

"Merry Christmas, kiddo!" boomed Emmett, just as soon as he caught sight of her. Her hair was tousled and frizzy from sleep and there was a red imprint on her cheek from the wrinkles on her pillowcase, but despite her squinty eyes and stiff limbs, she beamed when she saw the living room.

"Merry Christmas!" she squealed, launching herself at Emmett when he crouched down. "Good morning!"

"I'll get breakfast," said Esme. She had made pancakes—enough for Bella alone—and they were warming in the oven.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Bella crawled up onto the sofa next to Rose.

"That's lots of presents," she whispered, eying the stacks of gifts. "Are all of those from Santa?"

"Some of them," said Rose, pulling the coffee table nearer as Esme emerged with a plate of food. "Eat up, and then we can get started."

Bella, taking the fork, shoveled a large chunk of pancake into her mouth.

"Don't choke on Christmas, please…" Rose begged, grimacing when she took another bite. "I know Carlisle is a doctor, but I'd rather he didn't have to exercise those skills today."

Bella, confused, continued to chew.

"Did _you _get a stocking?"

"Only kids get those," smiled Rose. "See? Look at the mantle…"

Obediently, Bella shifted her eyes to the fireplace.

"Oh…"

She began to eat even faster.

"Alright, alright…" Rose confiscated the plate as she tried to shove a third piece into her mouth at the same time as two others. "Never mind. You can eat later."

"Okay!"

She rushed to the fireplace, Emmett hot on her heels.

"Here we go, kid," he handed her the heavy stocking. "Tear it apart."

She gasped.

"Not for real, not for real…" He laughed at the indignant look on her face. "Just a figure of speech. Dig in."

And taking a leaf right out of Emmett's book, Bella plopped herself down on the floor and promptly turned the stocking upside down.

* * *

"A dolly, and paints, and games, and books!" squealed Bella, her delighted arms filled with toys. "Thank you Rose! Thank you Jasper! Thank you Carmen!"

"You're welcome, you sweet thing," said Carmen at once, speaking over Jasper's chuckles. "I'm pleased you like it."

"I never had paints before," she grinned, leaning down to examine the easel and brushes on the floor. "And Esme says we can try_ together."_

"I know," said Carmen. "I heard…"

"And this dolly _is_ blue!" She almost threw it into Rose's lap in her eagerness to show it off. "Isn't she _pretty?"_

"Lovely…"

"And do you like your present?" demanded Bella, glancing at Alice. Alice had burst into giggles when she'd torn the paper off of the parcel Bella had addressed to her in childish, scrawling writing. A Tinkerbell ornament, straight from the Hallmark store, had fallen out into her lap.

"It's perfect," said Alice, kissing her cheek. "Thank you, honey."

Rose thought the child's smile would split her face in two.

The joy in the girl's eyes—so genuine and unfamiliar—had made this entire morning worth it. Bella had opened her gifts with animated gusto—everything, from the little pack of dollar store pens to the expensive, extravagant bicycle that had been lurking by the front door, delighted her. She adored the baby doll Rose had found for her, and the new video games from Emmett. The stack of books from Jasper had made her nearly dance with glee, and the shy, but still exuberant, _thank you_ she'd given Carmen and Eleazar when she'd unwrapped her paint set had spoken volumes.

And Rose was glad that the rest of the family—Denali clan included—had given Bella the same enthusiastic, joyful response to their own presents. As a rule, they did not buy for each other—they did not often celebrate and furthermore, there wasn't much that they couldn't get on their own. But these beliefs were suspended when Bella hauled out a stack of professionally wrapped gifts from the back of the pile.

For Esme, Bella had selected a tall, glittering figurine made of some kind of crystal. Rose knew she had chosen it because of its sparkle—not even Bella herself denied it—but when she explained to Esme that it should be used to replace the gem Alice had given her on her first day with them, Esme had promptly relocated it to its new place on the living room mantle. Carlisle had received a package of pens—not fancy fountain pens like the ones he favoured at work, or the slim, high-end stationary set he had in his study upstairs, but a set of five brightly coloured syringe-shaped pens designed to look like doctor's needles. Rose knew without a doubt that he would take them to work with him the following day—the nurses would get a kick out of them—and he would proudly tell anyone who asked where they had come from.

For Jasper, Bella had found a writer's handbook. Emmett had to suppress his laughter when she presented it to him, her little face serious and somber as she explained that because he was already such an excellent reader, he should focus instead on making sure he was also an excellent writer. Jasper, resisting the urge to chuckle, had taken the book with all the pomp and ceremony he could muster, and did not laugh until well after the fact, when Bella had gone to sleep.

Emmett had allowed Bella to choose a videogame for him from the new system he'd purchased just a few months prior. Much to Rose's amusement, she had chosen a Lego Avengers game. When Rose asked her why this was—as far as Rose knew, Bella had never watched _The Avengers_—she had said that "the green guy on the cover was big and strong, and sometimes, he broke things." Rose was confused until she saw the game for herself, spying the image of the big green Hulk.

She supposed it was a fitting comparison.

But it was Rose's gift, as silly and clever as all the others, that really made her day. Truth be told, Bella could have come back with an old toothpick, and so long as she gave it to Rose with that toothy, nervous grin, Rose would have thought it was the best gift in the whole world. But luckily, that was not the case. Rose received her gift last—even after Tanya, Kate, and Irina, who had all received tiaras _("because they're girls!"_), and Carmen and Eleazar, who had been given a joint gift of crystal coasters (_"Esme always says that moms and dads don't like it when cups ruin the tables"_). When Bella had pressed the long, thin package on her, her cheeks flaming red, she had waited with bated breath as Rose carefully slipped the paper away and opened up a long, thin jewelry box.

Inside, she had found a thin silver chain with a red, sparkly pendant attached to it. Rose knew why she had chosen it at once—she was used to getting gifts relating to her name, but somehow, this little jeweled rose made her throat feel tight.

"It's beautiful, darling," she praised, opening the clasp. "Truly…"

"Are you sure?" she asked, biting her lip. "Emmett said you were fussy," Rose's eyes flashed to her husband, "but I thought it looked _pretty."_

"It's absolutely perfect," she assured her, clipping the necklace around her throat. "Thank you, honey."

"I picked it because it's a rose, like you," she chirped. "And it's shiny."

Rose, unable to respond, simply scooped the girl up and hugged her close, pressing her lips fervently to the side of her head.

"I'm happy you like it," said Bella, her voice muffled by Rose's shoulder. "And thank you for all the new treasures."

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

"Bella?" Esme spoke from her place on the sofa. "Honey, you're forgetting one."

"Where?" demanded Bella, looking around the room. Rose perked up as well… she had not noticed any unopened gifts, nor could she recall anything being missing.

"There," said Esme at once, pointing to the tree. "Look up there, in the branches…"

And sure enough, nestled right at Bella's eye-level, was a large, white envelope and a small, wrapped box.

"_Who?"_ mouthed Rose, frowning as Bella went to scoop it up. Esme simply winked, waiting for Bella to peel the envelope away.

"It's got my name on it," she said, turning it over in her hands. "Can I read it?"

"Of course you can," said Esme indulgently. "See if you can read it out loud to us."

"Oh… kay." Bella slipped her finger into the envelope and tugged, tearing it open. Her little hand reached inside, scrabbling to scoop up the paper, and when it emerged with three different documents, her eyes went wide.

"It's pictures!" she squealed, and suddenly, Rose understood.

_Edward._

"What's it of?" asked Esme, smiling. "Take a look…"

"It's a… bear."

"A bear?" chuckled Emmett, stepping closer to take a look. Bella clutched the picture to her chest, as if she were worried he would take it from her.

"Aw, come on… I'll give it back."

Carefully, she turned the first picture over.

Edward, standing in a bamboo field, spying on a lounging, lazy panda bear.

"Lovely," said Carmen, her eyes fixed warily on Tanya. "What's the other one?"

Rose recognized the Sydney Opera House at once.

"There's a letter too," said Bella, unfolding the thick, ivory pages. "It says…"

"You've got it," said Jasper quickly, letting her lean back against him. Bella had progressed in leaps and bounds since the start of her schooling with Esme. "Start with the first one, there…"

"_Dear Bella,"_ she read, hesitant. _"Even though I am far away across the ocean_… did I say that right?"

"You said it just fine," said Jasper. "Keep going."

"_Even though I am far away across the ocean, I wanted to write you a little…"_

"Missive," supplied Jasper.

"_Missive,"_ repeated Bella, _"to wish you a very Merry Christmas._ That's nice of him!"

"Keep going," laughed Jasper. "Next line."

"Oh yeah." Bella scanned the page. _"I want to tell you that I am now in…"_

"Taiwan."

"_Taiwan,"_ said Bella, _"which is an island just off the coast of mainland China._ What's a mainland?"

"It means the part that's not an island," explained Jasper patiently. "What else does he have to say?"

"_The people here are very friendly, and they were more than happy to help me find a place to have your gift made. I hope you are doing well at school, and that everyone at home is being good to you."_

Bella beamed at the group.

"_I also hope that you're keeping Emmett in line, as we all know how he likes to break the rules…_ I'm gonna tell him about how rich I am!" she crowed, smirking at Emmett. "And about all the bad words you've said…"

"Read on," laughed Emmett, shaking his head. "Keep going."

"_Rosalie will help you, I don't doubt. So make sure you've got her on your team."_

Rose winked.

"_Please wish the rest of the family a Merry Christmas from me, and I promise I will call as soon as I can. I hope you got lots of presents and that Santa was very, very good to you. Your friend, Edward."_

"That's sweet of him," said Esme, taking the letter from Bella when she held it out. "I had wondered if he'd make contact…"

"Can I open this one?" asked Bella shyly, holding the small box in the palm of her hand. Rose snorted, shaking her head, when she caught sight of the shiny gold paper. It would be a miracle if Bella did not try to keep it.

"Of course," said Esme. "It's yours, after all…"

Bella, mindful of the paper, pulled carefully at the tape along either side. Slipping her little fingers under the flaps, she tore it away and let it fall to the floor. She was left holding a jewelry box with a Chinese engraving on top that Rose did not recognize.

"Go on," she urged, curious to see what was inside. "Open it up."

When she did, Rose felt a sudden and pervasive elation.

_Thank you, Edward._

Inside, nestled snugly on a bed of satin, was a small, delicate bracelet made up of filigree squares. The bright silver shone in the light from the overcast sky outside—Bella was tilting it this way and that to watch it glimmer—but what caught Rose's attention was not the iridescence of metal and light. Instead, it was the small charm that lay in between two sections: slightly bigger than the squares themselves was a raised, silver crest—the same crest that each member of the Cullen family wore on their own pieces of jewelry.

"Oh…" said Esme, standing to take a closer look. "Oh, Edward, what a wonderful idea."

Bella plucked it carefully from the box.

"Is this for me?" she asked, all wonder and awe. "It looks awfully special…"

"It is, sweet girl," said Rose, her voice tight. Jasper stepped back to let Rose in. "Here, let me see…"

Bella handed Rose the box and the bracelet. Underneath the satin cushion was a pile of five extra filigree squares, and on the underside the lid was another note.

_Bella,_

_I asked the jeweller to size your bracelet to fit to a child's wrist. I had it made so that more squares can be added as you grow._

_Never forget where you belong._

_E._

"Give me your arm," said Rose, and Bella carefully extended the wrist that had so recently been freed of its plaster prison. Mindful of her small, delicate bones, Rose took the little arm in her hands, and carefully clasped the bracelet around it.

The Cullen Crest shone bright and clear.

"There," said Rose. "Isn't that lovely?"

"What is it?" asked Bella, bringing it up to her face to inspect it. "It looks like Emmett's…"

Rose saw Emmett's cuff—something he almost never left the house without—wrapped around his own wrist.

"It's our crest," said Carlisle softly. "The one my family had in England so long ago."

"Oh…" Bella examined it a little closer. "What's it mean?

"It means," he smiled, "that you're part of our family now."

"I am?" Bella looked surprised. "The bracelet says so?"

"The bracelet affirms it," corrected Carlisle. "_We_ said so a long time ago."

The girl smiled.

"Esme, can I write him a letter back?"

"Yes you can, sweet girl," she said. "Absolutely you can. I think Edward would like that."


	22. Chapter 22

Rose knew that she was making Bella antsy.

Sitting far too still in a solitary, lonesome corner of the living room, Rosalie was perched, her fingernails digging into a plush, embroidered cushion under her arm. Her knuckles were bone white, standing out in harsh relief on her fists, as Bella, fidgeting with the silver bracelet on her wrist, stood awkwardly by her side. The child did not understand Carlisle's words—he knew she wouldn't when he spoke them—and though Rose was infinitely grateful for that, she could not help but mull over those words, herself. She could barely believe he had said them. She had scanned his face for a good thirty seconds, looking for any trace of macabre humour, but finding none, she had relegated herself to stony, icy silence.

"You can't be serious." That was Esme, her voice scathing and sharp in the sudden quiet. "That's just cruel."

Carlisle remained silent.

"They cannot possibly ask her to…"

"They have," grimaced Carlisle, "and I don't know if we can refuse."

"Of course we can!" Her husband's sudden boom made Rose shiver. "She's a _child!"_

Bella perked up at the sound of that—there was only one child in the room, and she knew it. Her eyes flickered between them, her little heart racing as she caught on to the tension and conflict.

Bella hated fighting.

"Jenks and I are conferencing tonight," said Carlisle gently, and Rose knew his anger was only tempered by the child's sudden anxiety. "I'll talk it over with him then."

"To hell with Jenks," spat Emmett. "She's _ours_, not some pawn to use as a…"

"What?" Bella's little voice shook. Her eyes flickered between the faces like a spectator in a game of sinister table tennis. She knew something was amiss—the girl was so bright and insightful—but Rose knew that even as the gears in her head worked to make sense of the words that had sparked the animosity, she would draw a blank.

The child had no frame of reference, and could not be expected to understand.

"Nothing for you to worry over, sweetheart," said Carlisle at once, shooting an impatient grimace at Emmett. "Why don't you go on upstairs and get ready for bed?"

"Are you fighting?" she asked, her hand clenching on the armrest of Rose's chair.

"No, honey…"

"Did I do something bad?"

"No." Esme spoke patiently. "You've done nothing wrong. Now, come along with me…"

"Rose?"

Rose forced herself to move—it was one of their predatory instincts to freeze in response to stress—but when her hardened smile reached the girl's eyes, it only served to upset her further.

"No, no," she murmured, admonishing herself. The child was not like them—of course she would take Rose's surly silence as anger—and Rose knew all too well how poorly she tolerated it…

When she reached down to wipe the tear away, the girl jerked back. Rose hid her sudden hurt well—the child was only frightened, she thought—but she forced herself to lay her hand, palm up, next to Bella's.

She did not take it.

"I'm sorry," said the child, her voice cracking as she began to sniffle. "I'm sorry if I did something bad…"

"You've done nothing wrong," said Esme at once, rushing to Bella's side. Their mother scooped her up. "Rosalie isn't angry with _you."_

"At who, then?"

"No one," said Esme at once. "She's simply frustrated…"

Bella hid her face in Esme's shoulder.

"Oh, there's no need to cry, sweetheart..." said Esme, her voice quieting as she carried the girl up the stairs. "Come now… look! No one's shouting…"

Rose heard their mother sigh as she closed Bella's bedroom door.

"You cannot possibly condone this," said Emmett, speaking before Rose could, as soon as he was sure the child could not hear him. "Just _look_ at her, for God's sake…"

"I haven't condoned anything of the sort," said Carlisle at once. "I don't think it's necessary, and I certainly don't think it'll do _her_ any good."

"There!" Emmett sat back, his incredulous eyes glued on their father. "You could have said as much when they called…"

"I did," returned Carlisle.

"So say it again."

"Jenks will…"

"Fuck Jenks!" Rose flashed a venomous glare at his curse. "Remind me… why are we still playing nice?"

"Because if we don't," drawled Jasper, speaking for the first time since Carlisle had broken the news, "the humans won't play nice either."

"So what?" Emmett was incensed. "We've got her. She's _ours_. If we take her, there's not much they can do…"

"We can't risk exposure," said Carlisle at once.

"_Exposure_…" scoffed Emmett.

"If we take her," Rose cut in, her heart filled with sudden dread, "then we'll have bigger problems than human authorities to watch for."

Emmett glared.

"They'll never know."

"If we end up on the news—which we certainly will if an Amber Alert were put out—then it's only a matter of time before word gets back to Italy. They monitor all media outlets, you know that…"

Emmett scowled, mutinous.

"So what, then? We're just supposed to hand her over?"

"No," said Carlisle patiently. "Not once did they say she would be remanded to the custody of the state…"

"Well here's my stance," said Emmett, rising angrily to his feet. "Those _fuckers_," Rose scowled, "have no business asking anything of the sort."

"She'll never be able to do it, Carlisle," said Jasper mildly. Rose felt the calm he directed at Emmett, and though Emmett knew the emotions were synthetic, he seemed to give in and let them take hold. Rose breathed a sigh of relief when he sat. "The girl can barely cope with her own nightmares, much less _this."_

"I know," sighed Carlisle again, and in a distinctly ruffled manner, he ran his hand roughly through his hair. "I _know_ she can't."

"So make _them_ know it," said Alice softly.

"How?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Other than having her actually try it…"

"Do you see anything?" asked Carlisle. "Any possible outcome?"

"No," said Alice quickly. "I see nothing. She's still hard for me to read, though I'm getting better…"

Rose knew her father was fascinated by Alice and Bella—she could almost see the way he processed each and every interaction between child and prophecy, storing them in that treasure trove of memory he had been compiling for centuries. Carlisle had always found Alice's premonitions curious: the idea of fate, destiny, and free will tantalized the inner philosopher that was always looming over him. The conundrum of Bella had only complicated the issue—why was it that Alice was able to see almost every member of their family, but could not get a read on the timid, awkward, endearing little creature who had joined them? Was it her humanity—were mortals simply too fickle and transient to adopt a definitive future? Or was it her age—children were ever-evolving and notoriously changeable. Could it be that great and powerful gift Eleazar had so easily picked out during their holiday visit? Was her shield blocking Alice's visions as Eleazar claimed it would block Edward's gift?

"I know," said Carlisle at once, placating Alice's sudden frustration. "I didn't mean to pry…"

Alice closed her eyes again, and Rose knew she was looking.

"Well, we've all done a fine job upsetting her." Esme's sarcastic, scolding voice rang from the bottom of the stairs. "As if she needs more stress, especially from us…"

"I'm sorry, darling," said Carlisle at once, contrite. "I should have waited…"

Esme shook her head, sitting stiffly in an armchair. Her eyes flickered over each of them, pausing momentarily on Rosalie. Rose knew her mother could see her disenchantment—how tired she was growing of this broken, disjointed system that was supposed to _protect_ children, not condemn them. Rose knew Shirelle Williams was on her last leg—the monster that was always lurking under the calm mask of civility and restraint was demanding blood, though Rose was almost certain Carlisle would never let it get that far.

Alice broke the silence with a snort and smirked at Rose. Rose wondered just what kinds of depravity her sister had seen in her mind's eye.

"Other than mangling the social worker…" She spoke with a strange, dark humour that made Carlisle click his tongue. "What can we do?"

"Talk to Jenks," said Carlisle at once with an air of suffering patience. "He's our best bet…"

"Jenks can't undo a court order," said Esme softly. "Even I know that much."

"He can try…"

"They want her testimony, Carlisle," said Esme. "There's no getting out of it."

"Jenks has handled cases like these before," said Carlisle. "I know he has. I've been a client since the firm was founded by his great-great-grandfather. They handle family court cases all the time."

"This is hardly a case for family court," said Esme. "It's not a custody battle or divorce court. It's a criminal abuse trial."

"I'm aware." Carlisle spoke stiffly. "All the same…"

"She won't be able to do it," said Jasper again, shaking his head. "I'm telling you right now. I could sit right beside her—hold her on my_ lap _for the entire deposition—but there is no way I could calm her in front of all those witnesses without it being _blatantly _obvious…"

The anxious silence was almost palpable.

Brooding in the shadows and positively seething with frustrated anger, Rose turned away from her brother. She knew he was right—he usually was when it came to Bella's wellbeing—but she did not like to believe it. She knew it was not Carlisle's fault—she had managed to temper the sudden, bubbling rage that had risen almost at once when he'd spoken the words in quiet, somber tones. She had been making a deliberate, conscious effort to go along with her father on family matters, and though he did not say it in front of the rest of them, Rose knew he appreciated her trust.

It was difficult, however, when that fierce maternal instinct to protect kicked in whenever she felt the child was threatened.

Receding into her head—there was no Edward to overhear her now—Rose's imagination ignited in full force. Never in all her years of life had anything played out exactly as she had imagined it, but that did not stop the meandering, macabre, and oftentimes hideous daydreams from making themselves vividly clear. How could they ever expect her to do it? How could they ask her, a mere child of six, to sit by herself on the witness stand, speaking before a room full of adults to describe the horrors and atrocities that had been inflicted upon her? Never mind that the culprit himself would be present—he had every right to attend his own hearing. The man was innocent until proven guilty, though Rose could not see how _anyone_ could see him for anything other than what he was—an angry, abusive sexual deviant.

Rose could see it in her mind—how the girl would crumble under the pressure, succumb to tears, worry herself into an uncontrollable frenzy, reach out for her even though Rose _knew_ she would have no right to step forward and snatch her away from the stand...

She imagined after, when they brought her back home. Imagined how she would cry. How she would fret, and weep, and rail against them…

How she would _blame _them for letting it happen.

"She can't," said Rose quietly, her voice shattering the frigid, glassy silence. "There's no way…"

"They want her testimony," said Carlisle again. "They've got the subpoena. They've got the judge's order. They've got that Williams woman's approval…" He trailed off with a sudden look of intrigue on his face.

"What?" demanded Esme, her eyes fixed on him. "What, Carlisle?"

"She needs to speak," he said slowly, "but nowhere in that subpoena does it say she must speak _in person."_

Rose blinked.

"They might not accept it," said Esme doubtfully, though even Rose could feel a niggling hope growing inside her. "There's no way to guarantee their agreement."

"They will if her doctor says they must," said Carlisle at once. His face broke into a sudden, almost dazzling smile.

"You can't…" Esme shook her head. "You're _not_ her doctor."

"No," he agreed readily, "I'm not. But Elisha Jordan is."

"Yes," said Rose, perking up as she stood. "Yes, Carlisle, do it. Call her."

"It's after hours," he reminded her. "She might have already left…"

"I don't care," breathed Rose. "Call her. Make her agree."

"She _will_ agree. The courts have no authority to override a child's medical needs."

Jasper breathed a sigh.

"They might want to cross-examine…"

"She's six," said Emmett, still angry though far less agitated. "How can you possibly cross-examine a six year old?"

Jasper shrugged.

"They won't," said Carlisle at once. "They rarely do with children so young. And especially since the testimony is so sensitive…" He reached into his pocket. "I'll try her cell."

And without another word, their father was out of the room.

"I can't…" Alice's eyes were clenched shut, and Jasper ran his hand soothingly over her back. "Damn humans…"

Rose snorted.

"I _think…" _Rose listened to her father's quiet, gentle voice upstairs as her sister spoke, "she'll agree."

"She'd better agree," muttered Emmett threateningly, uncrossing his arms to stretch his hands. "That kid's been through hell already. It's cruel enough to even _ask_ it of her, much less _demand _it…"

"Shh!" Rose craned her neck. "I can't hear…"

Emmett bit his tongue.

"You won't hear anything," said Alice, pecking Jasper on the cheek as she curled into his side. "He knows we're all terrible eavesdroppers…"

Not even Esme could help her smile.

"Is Bella asleep?" asked Rose quietly, turning the attention on their mother while they waited.

"I doubt it," sighed Esme. "I put her to bed, but she still seemed upset…"

Rose clucked her tongue.

"I should…"

"Wait until your father comes back," said Esme gently. "He obviously wants privacy."

Rose knew she was right.

It was a long five minutes of silence—only the dull thud of Bella's heart from the upstairs bedroom and the muffled phone conversation coming from the study were of any consequence. Rose could not entirely stop herself from eavesdropping—she could rarely, if ever, fully disengage when she knew something important was going on—and only when they heard a door open did any heads turn back towards the stairs.

"Doctor Jordan is on our side," said Carlisle at once, appearing in a flash at the bottom. It almost startled Rose—no one had used their speed or strength in the house since Bella had arrived—but she was glad for his haste once he spoke the verdict.

"Excellent," said Emmett. "So what now?"

"Now she contacts the social worker for finalization, but there's no need to worry. She's a well-respected physician and she's got excellent professional judgment. There's no way the judge will refuse her. And if he does, we've got the right to file an injunction."

Rose grinned.

"Under no circumstances is that child to face her abuser before she's been cleared by her therapist to do so," said Carlisle. "And as far as Elisha's concerned, that could take years."

Rose bit her lip.

"But in light of the urgency of the matter at hand," he continued, "Bella's next session will be videotaped to be used as testimony."

"Good," said Emmett. "That's great."

"Not quite," said Rose gently. The ghost of something long-forgotten—that hopeless, angry, troublesome anxiety that had plagued her during her earliest years in this life—was hovering over her shoulder. "Just because she won't have to appear in the courthouse doesn't mean it won't be difficult."

Rose frowned when Emmett's worried gaze suddenly fixed on her, his eyes raking over her face as he stared. Rose knew what he was thinking—it had been almost fifty years since the last time she had unburdened any of her fear, anxiety, or resentment onto him. Despite this long silence, Rose often caught him studying her whenever subjects such as these came up as if he feared she would quickly and suddenly dissolve into the blubbering, worrisome mess she had been so long ago.

"I'm fine," she said, shaking her head when he pursed his lips. "I'm not the one you should be worried about."

Rose was touched, if not a little embarrassed, when the rest of the family purposely ignored the sudden shift in conversation. They all knew, of course—between Edward's mind reading, Alice's foresight, and Jasper's empathy, it was almost impossible to keep even small secrets from anyone else, much less a hulking, overbearing one such as this. But even if they knew, Rose appreciated the façade of privacy nonetheless.

"I worry for both of you," said Emmett gravely. "This whole mess hasn't been easy on either of you."

"I'm fine," said Rose honestly. "All I want is justice for her."

"I know," he said, and in a flash, Rose found herself not on the seat of the armchair, but in his lap. Had she been human she would have been unable to catch the movement—the sudden flash of white as he ran, the quick, almost imperceptible motion as he lifted her, and her careful settling as his strong arms urged her closer. She let him do it—she knew how it soothing it was for him to feel her, present and safe, in his arms—and rested her head on his shoulder.

When he kissed her temple, gentle as always, she felt a sudden thrill of affection that made Jasper smile.

"I love you." His words were not necessary.

"I love you too," she whispered. "But don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"I know."

She curled her feet under his thighs.

* * *

"I thought it would be best to watch from here," said Doctor Jordan, glancing carefully through the glass at Bella, who was cheerfully stacking Legos in the far corner of the room. "This way, you know exactly what's going on, and you'll be able to handle any setbacks or worries once you get back home."

"We appreciate it," said Carlisle, clasping Esme's hand in his own. Rose, obstinate and tense, stood off to the side, her arms folded over her chest as she stood close to the glass, her face almost pressed against it. She was staring at Bella—she seemed so happy, so_ free_, sitting at the little wooden table, the colourful bricks stacking higher and higher the longer she worked…

"Will you be alright, Rosalie?" asked the doctor suddenly, making Rose swivel. "Your parents tell me you've grown quite close with Bella, which is obvious given the fact that she agreed to let you sit in…"

"Yes," said Rose. The doctor frowned, and Rose forced a smile. "I'll be fine, Doctor. Thank you."

"Well, if you're sure…"

"I am." The hardness in her voice was almost abrasive. "I'm just not eager to watch it unfold, that's all."

"I understand."

"Thanks again, Elisha. We appreciate you taking the time…"

"Nonsense," said the woman, moving towards the door. "This is what I do, after all."

Carlisle only smiled.

When the door slipped shut, locking automatically behind her, Rose breathed a sigh of frustration.

"This isn't right," she said at once, watching as the doctor opened the door to the playroom. Rose knew it was meant to put Bella at ease—what child did not like toys, crayons, bubbles, and dolls? But to Rosalie, who had spent entirely too much time analyzing _why_ the room was there in the first place, could not help but grimace. The only reason, she knew, that rooms like this existed, were to coddle and comfort children while they relived some of the ugliest, nastiest crimes that had been inflicted on them. It was here, Rose knew, that they spoke of abuse—of blows so hard that bones were broken, or words so cruelly and heartlessly spoken that they left the child empty. It was here that they spoke of tragedy—of dreams shattered and trust broken in ways so heinous that it boggled Rose to even _think_ that it could happen.

It was here, Rose knew, that children recounted their darkest days. This was the room in which stories of assault, violence, neglect, cruelty were were given a voice.

But it was also here—a fact to which Rose fervently clung—that the stories of recovery, redemption, and bravery made their debut.

"No one would think any less of you if you opted out," said Carlisle, his voice so close to her ear that she started. She had not even heard him approach. "Emmett didn't think it was a good idea for you to come…"

"I'm staying," she said. "I told her I would."

"She doesn't need to know," murmured Carlisle. "I would be more than happy to share any relevant details afterwards…"

"No," said Rose. The doctor was sitting with Bella now, and Esme pushed the button to activate the speaker on the wall. "No, I want to be here."

And she was the only one. Aside from Carlisle and Esme—parents to the child in every way that mattered who were asked to be here by the therapist herself—Rose was the only other family member who had volunteered to come along. The three of them—Carlisle, Esme, and the doctor—had confronted Bella just a few days prior, asking permission to listen in on this one, special session with the therapist.

Bella, unable to understand exactly what would be discussed, had happily agreed, chirping that the whole family could come and watch if they wanted to.

Alice had seen the entire spectacle in a vision. She had seen Carlisle, stubborn and unmovable, watching the entire display with rapt and dedicated attention. His future had been set in stone the very instant Bella had given her consent, and Alice, dismayed and unhappy, had seen the results in his future. She had no desire to watch it in person, and Jasper, knowing that he would not be able to sit idle when the child began to cry, decided that an honest, useful testimony would be best achieved without him there to interfere. Emmett had wanted to come, but knowing that his anger would likely lead to trouble, he had grudgingly agreed to hold his vigil by the front window instead.

And so it was Esme, Rosalie, and Bella who piled into Carlisle's black Mercedes, Bella's naïve, cheerful chattering filling the silence the whole way to Port Angeles.

"We've got a special session today," said the doctor.

"Uh huh," Bella's block tower was monstrous. "Look! I built it high."

"You certainly have," praised the doctor. From the corner of her eye, Rose saw Esme squeeze Carlisle's hand. "You've done a wonderful job."

Bella, beaming, turned shyly to the glass—the doctor had explained that the family could see her behind the mirror. Rose wanted to wave at her, to smile at her… to give some indication that she was listening, and attentive, and proud…

"Your cast is gone," noted the doctor.

"Mhm."

"When did you get it removed?"

"Before Christmas," smiled Bella. "I had a nice dress for Christmas day, and the cast didn't even have to be in the pictures."

"How wonderful," said the doctor. "Does your arm still hurt?"

"No," Bella shook her head, looking down at the still-thin appendage. "It's skinny now, though."

"It'll grow its muscle back, said the doctor, laying her hand on Bella's arm. "But I don't think you've ever told me the story. What happened to make you need a cast?"

Frowning, Bella turned to face her.

"I hurt it," she said, and Rose's heart clenched at the sudden evasiveness. She should have known—the girl was too perceptive for her own good.

Doctor Jordan's smile never wavered.

"That must have been scary," she said, handing Bella some new blocks.

"I guess."

"Where did you hurt it?"

Bella jabbed her pointer finger at her lower arm and the doctor nodded.

"Did you hurt it outside?"

"No."

"At school?"

"No."

"Were you at home?"

Bella shrugged, her suspicious eyes flicking nervously to the mirror.

"You're safe here, Bella," said the doctor quietly. "You know that, right?"

"Uh huh."

"Are you afraid to tell me about your arm?"

"No."

The doctor waited. Bella, her shoulders slumping, sat back from the table. She slid her tower to the side—Rose couldn't help but smile at her conscientious effort to keep it intact—and instead reached over for a wax crayon from the large basket on the floor.

The doctor immediately produced a pad of construction paper. Bella began to doodle.

"That's a pretty drawing," said the doctor gently, watching as Bella continued to sketch. The lines were rudimentary—they had learned from her paintings over Christmas that the girl had limited coordination—but she seemed to genuinely enjoy art projects. Rose's excellent vision, which allowed her to focus on the drawing even from her great distance, saw that she had begun to draw the house—all three stories, the wrap-around porch, the long, winding drive leading to the spacious, low-lying garage…

"It's my house," said Bella at once, tugging it a little closer. "That's where I live."

"Very pretty," praised the doctor again. "Which is your window?"

Bella jabbed her finger vaguely towards the second floor, and Rose smiled when she began to dot it with little white spots—the Christmas lights she had yet to take down.

"Why'd you choose that to draw?"

"Because."

"You're a wonderful artist."

"Thank you."

"She's not stupid," said Esme suddenly, and Rose turned quickly to look. Her face was set in a hard mask, her eyes glued on the little girl. "She's caught on to what we're trying to do."

"We've got all afternoon," sighed Carlisle, his mouth a grim line. "I had hoped to get her out of here relatively quickly, but…"

"We can hardly force her," said Rose. "If she doesn't want to talk…"

"They'll get it out of her," said Carlisle sadly. "If she doesn't talk now, all it will do is postpone the trial until she _can_ give testimony, and the longer he's free…"

The longer it would take to truly welcome her into their family.

Rose bit her tongue when the doctor spoke again.

"Tell me about your house," she said.

"I did that last time…" Bella complained.

"But you've never showed me a picture before," wheedled the doctor, sitting next to her on the floor. "What a lovely porch…"

"It's a _veranda_," corrected Bella at once. "That's what Esme told me."

"So it is," laughed the doctor. "Do you ever sit outside?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you play in the yard?"

"Yeah."

"What kinds of games?"

"Snowball fight," murmured Bella, and Rose could not help but grin. "I won."

"Oh? Against who?"

"Emmett," said Bella smugly, and Rose saw her crayon shift to the vast, empty yard on her paper. Much to her amusement, Rose watched as Bella began to scrawl a large, hulking figure—obviously meant to represent her husband—and a smaller, scrawnier figure standing on his back.

"Who was on your team?"

Bella giggled.

"Jasper," she admitted. "And Alice. Even if she said she didn't want to get her boots wet."

"_Did_ she get her boots wet?"

"Yes," said Bella, decisive. "Emmett put some snow in there, and then she joined my team."

"I'm sure it was a lovely time."

"Mhm."

"What else did you do over Christmas?"

"I decorated," said Bella at once, letting her crayon fall to the tabletop as she thought. Her little fingers tapped the desk. "I went shopping for presents, I got to _open_ some presents, I got to read stories with Carmen, and Kate showed me _static electricity."_

Rose snorted.

"That sounds like fun," said the doctor again, never losing enthusiasm. "Who are Carmen and Kate?"

"Kate's a cousin," shrugged Bella, returning to her crayon. "And Esme says Carmen is an auntie."

"How wonderful!"

"Mhm."

"What did they think of your cast? Did they see it?"

"No…" Bella began to colour Emmett's hair. "Why?"

"I just wondered what they might think of it," breezed the doctor. "What do you think they'd have thought?"

"That it was blue…" Bella scribbled a little harder. "And that there were names on it."

"Certainly."

"And that it was sad." Rose stood a little straighter, focusing her attention on the tinny speaker in the corner.

Bella looked up at the therapist.

"Why sad?" she asked idly, picking up a crayon of to begin her own artwork. Bella frowned, watching as Doctor Jordan began to draw a sunny, spacious garden on a pink piece of paper.

"Because it was an _injury."_ She relished the word. "That's what Carlisle called it."

"The cast?" Bella pursed her lips.

"No, the broken _ulna,"_ she sighed, shaking her head. "That's what Carlisle says it's called."

"It is," agreed the doctor. A ghost of a smile crossed Bella's face when Doctor Jordan tapped her arm with the crayon. "That one right _there."_

Bella stared down at her forearm.

"Do you want to talk about the broken ulna?" asked the doctor softly, letting the silence persist only for a moment. Rose saw Bella bite her lip—a sure sign of distress—but was pleased when she didn't cry.

"I dunno."

"Why don't you tell me something about it?" coaxed the doctor.

"Like what?"

"Whatever you want to tell me," she said. "Did you know that when I was a little girl, I broke my tibia?"

"No…" Bella stared at the doctor. "What's that?"

"Tibia?"

"Mhm."

"The bone right _here_." She tapped Bella's leg with her crayon. Bella stared down at it.

"What did you do?"

"I fell out of a tree," said the doctor easily. "My mom told me not to climb it, but I did and I fell right out."

Bella looked thoughtful.

"How old were you?"

"Eight."

"I'm six."

"I know."

"Did it hurt?"

"It did," said the doctor. "But I got a cast, just like you had. Only mine was white instead of blue."

"That's sad," said Bella at once, and the doctor chuckled.

"I suppose it could be," she conceded. "But what about you? What did you do to break your arm?"

This time, she froze for only a moment.

"I got it stuck," she said slowly, and once again, her eyes flickered to the mirror.

Rose wanted so badly to scoop her up.

"Where did you get it stuck?" asked the doctor. Bella, eyes snapping back to attention, went red in the face and began to colour a little harder on the paper.

Rose could not make out what she mumbled back.

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"A door," she said again, this time a little more clearly. "The closet door."

Her face wasn't very red anymore.

"The closet door…" Doctor Jordan's cheeks puffed out. "Where was that?"

"Daddy's house."

"How sad," said the doctor at once. "That must have been a scary thing."

"Mhm."

"How did it get stuck?"

"I put it out."

Rose frowned.

"What did you put out, sweetheart?" Bella had finished her drawing, and so the doctor slid her own over to Bella's side of the table. Rose saw that she had purposely left it uncoloured, and Bella, eager as ever, began to fill it in.

"My arm," she said carefully. "I put it out of the closet, and it got stuck."

"Were you inside the closet or outside the closet when it got stuck?"

"Inside…"

"Were you hiding?"

"…no."

She put her crayon back down.

"Why were you inside, then?"

"Can I go to the bathroom?"

"Of course," said the doctor at once, and Rose saw Carlisle take a step back. The movement surprised her, but when Esme came to stand next to her, she understood.

"It's in the agreement with the courts that there should be two medical professionals with her if she's out of the camera's view," said Esme quickly. "To make sure no one's coaching her."

"As if we would," she scoffed, though even to her ears the protest was weak. "How much longer does she have before this is over?"

"There's a list of questions," admitted Esme. "I don't know exactly what's on it and neither does your father, but it's been approved by Doctor Jordan, the social worker, and the judge."

Rose scowled.

"She's getting upset."

"I think she's doing wonderfully," protested Esme, sounding a little surprised. "She's doing very well."

Rose bit her tongue.

"We never said it would be easy for her," murmured Esme softly, and Rose felt her mother's hand on her shoulder. "It can't possibly be, given the nature of the abuse…"

Rose saw Carlisle and Doctor Jordan—Bella holding tight to Carlisle's hand—as they re-entered the playroom.

"I'll be right back there, honey," he said, gently prying her fingers away. "You're doing a wonderful job."

"Can we be done?" Even in a whisper, Rose heard her through the speaker. "I want to go home now."

"Very soon, sweet pea," said Carlisle. "You keep on playing with Doctor Jordan, and before you know it, we'll be all finished."

"Why?" Her fingers fastened on his belt loop instead. "I'll be good…"

"You are already being so, so good," said Carlisle at once, crouching down to cup her cheeks. "Never think otherwise."

She simply frowned, her eyes reproachful.

"But…"

"But what, sweetheart?"

"But… she wants to know about _bad_ things."

"She does," agreed Carlisle.

"And that means…"

"What does it mean?" he prompted, frowning when she fell short.

"I don't want to talk about bad things," she whispered fervently, and it broke Rose's heart to see her lean forward, wrapping her arms around Carlisle's neck this time. Rose saw the pain on his face when he reached around and gently pulled her away, kissing her forehead as he rose to his full height.

"I'll be right behind that mirror," he said again. "But you're doing a wonderful job, honey. Just a little while longer."

The confused, betrayed expression on Bella's face as Carlisle turned away and came back to the observation area was almost enough to break Rose's resolve. When her father made it back inside, his eyes full of a pain Rose had never seen before, she watched him rest his forehead against the cold, sterile glass.

"We'll be done soon," said Carlisle. "Elisha thinks she's opening up."

Rose and Esme said nothing.

"Are you ready to start again, kiddo?" asked Doctor Jordan, and Bella, reluctant and fearful, turned to face her.

"Do we have to talk about the closet?" she asked in a little, plaintive voice.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but we do," said the doctor. "But remember—even when it's not fun to talk about certain things, sometimes it's what we need to do to help us heal."

"I don't_ want_ to talk about it," she insisted.

"I know."

"Do I still have to?"

"I think so."

Rose saw her wide eyes brim with tears.

"Come back and colour," suggested the doctor, offering her a tissue from a box on the counter. Bella balled it in her fist. "There are more flowers, see?"

Bella, obedient, sat at the table, but did not pick up the crayon as she laid her head down on the desk.

"If you tell me why you were in the closet, we can go play with the bubbles," enticed the doctor. "Can you do that for me, Bella?"

"Dunno."

"Were you in there to play?"

"Uh uh."

"To hide?"

"No."

"To look for something?"

"Mm mm."

"By accident?"

"No."

"Did your daddy tell you to go inside?"

A tiny nod.

Rose felt ire bubbling up.

"Did he _make_ you go inside?"

"Mhm…" Her little hand clutched the tissue so hard her knuckles went white.

"Can you look at me, kiddo?"

She shook her head.

"Tell me how you got to be in that closet," she said. "You're not in trouble, honey. You did nothing bad. We just have to make sure we know the truth."

When she spoke, her voice was full of tears.

"I…" Rose saw Carlisle's coal-black eyes fixed on the child as she, herself, fought against a bitter, acrid urge to take the girl and run.

She sat in the cold, plastic chair to stop herself, listening.

"Miss Williams came to daddy's house to see where I was." The girl spoke in a rush. "I wasn't at school since I got a spank and had an _injury._"

"Good girl…"

"And then she came and _he_ said to be sick on the couch so I laid there and then when she was leaving I got scared and…"

"And?"

Rose saw the terrible embarrassment in the child's eyes as she glanced tearfully at the mirrored glass.

"I had an… _accident." _She muttered the word like a curse, "and then _he_ got mad and made me go to the closet for bad girls because I'm bad and I don't listen and I don't do anything right and I'm stupid and a bitch and a _shit!"_

The observation room was dead silent.

"Who is _he_, sweetheart?" asked the doctor softly, her hand resting on Bella's back. Rose knew the obvious question was for the benefit of the jurors—Rose was sure the defense team was not above discrediting a child's firsthand account of abuse if the man was not named outright.

"Daddy…" Her voice grew loud as she began to cry. "And I said I'm sorry and he said to just shut my mouth."

"I'm sorry that happened," said the doctor gently. "That was very wrong of him to say such things to you."

Bella didn't move, and would not take her head off of her arms.

"Do you need a break?"

No answer.

"Let's go play bubbles, like I said we would," suggested the doctor. "Come on…"

The sudden shift in the room was almost palpable. Rose knew this would happen—the happy, outgoing, and curious child who had chattered away in the car was never destined to last the day. Albeit necessary, this intensive, pointed interview had killed that joy in its cradle and Rose thought it would take a long time coming back.

And all at once, she was very, very glad Emmett had opted to stay home.

At the bubble station, Bella sat sullen as Doctor Jordan played in the soap.

"Here now…" She handed Bella a wand, though she refused to blow. "That one there makes great big bubbles."

Bella tossed it back into the soap.

"Not today?"

"No."

She began to pick at her cuticles.

"Tell me something else about your life with daddy," said Doctor Jordan gently. "Something that gave you feelings."

Bella grimaced, almost confused.

"I got sad when he smacked…"

"When did he smack?"

She shrugged.

"Because he was mad," she said carefully.

"Why was that?"

"Dunno."

"What kinds of things would make daddy angry?"

"Singing," she said, and Rose saw Esme grimace. Nothing delighted her more than to hear the loud, oftentimes off-key renditions of children's songs belted out from the upstairs shower when Bella was left alone and she thought no one could hear. No one had the heart to tell her otherwise—they were sure it would crush her spirit and embarrass her beyond words—but they were all guilty of listening in. She was such an eager little songstress, even though she had almost no skill…

"He got angry when I sang _The Wheels on the Bus,"_ said Bella dutifully. "Miss Casey said that I should practice it for the class, and I did, but then he called me names."

"I see," said Doctor Jordan. "That's a sad feeling. What about a happy one?"

"I got to learn about animals," she shrugged.

"With your daddy?"

"No, with Miss Casey."

"Do you miss going to school?" asked the doctor carefully. At once, Bella shook her head.

"No," she said decisively. She began to toy with the soap. "I like Esme's school better."

"That's a good sign," said the doctor. "Can we try an imagining?"

"I guess so," shrugged Bella, sitting back on her heels as the doctor smiled. Evidently, Bella knew what this was, though Rose had never heard the term used in quite the same way.

Bella closed her eyes.

"Imagine that you're standing in the living room with Carlisle and Esme," she began.

Rose frowned.

"Now, imagine that one of them—whichever one you want—tells you that you have a choice. One choice is to keep doing school at home, with Esme, but without Miss Casey or the other kids in your class. The other choice is to go back to Miss Casey's class, but this time without anyone there to harass you."

"No daddy?" Bella asked, her eyes closed.

"No daddy," confirmed the therapist. "Which do you choose?"

"Number one," said Bella easily, and Esme smiled fondly. "I want to keep going to Esme's school. I like it there."

"Excellent choice," smiled the doctor. "Thank you for playing."

"You're welcome," said Bella politely.

She blew a bubble.

"If you could tell me anything in the world about your daddy, what would you tell me?"

Bella looked taken aback.

"I dunno…" she said. "I don't want to talk about daddy."

"I know," acknowledged the doctor. "But remember what we've been discussing ever since you started coming to me?"

"Talking is healing," repeated Bella at once. "If we talk about things, then things can get better."

"That's right."

"But…"

"I know it's uncomfortable," said the doctor. "But everyone is here to help you if you need it."

"Can I have the duck?"

Rose blinked.

"You sure can," laughed the doctor. "He's right over there, on the shelf."

And all at once, Bella scampered over to the shelf near a window, pulling down a big, plush yellow duck. She hugged it tight to her chest, and when she came back to the doctor, she sat in a beanbag chair along the far wall instead of the plastic chair at the bubble station.

"Are you comfortable?"

"I guess so," shrugged Bella, and Rose saw her bury her nose in the duck's soft down. "But I forgot the question."

"If you could tell me anything in the world about your daddy, what would it be?" repeated the doctor.

Bella considered for a long moment.

"That he doesn't like kids that much," she said finally, shaking her head. "And that I don't know why."

"Thank you for answering," said the doctor. "Can I ask another question?"

Bella sighed.

"Why do you think your daddy doesn't like kids?"

"I dunno…" Bella sounded frustrated. "I _said_ I don't know why."

"But why do you _think_ that?" asked the doctor again. "What has daddy done or said to put that idea into your head?"

"He calls me…" She trailed off, her little lip between her teeth. She eyed the doctor almost warily.

"What?"

"It's a bad word."

"You can say it, honey. You won't get in trouble here."

"He calls me _bitch_ and_ shit_ and other rude names_…" _Each curse from her sweet, soft-spoken mouth made Rose cringe. "He smacks, and he gets angry, and he drinks all his beer, and he shouts, and he sends me to bed when the sun goes down even if its early, and he says I'm stupid, and I'm not allowed to sing, and I'm not allowed to tell…"

"What aren't you allowed to tell?"

Rose saw Carlisle twitch.

"That he does mean things," said Bella, curling herself around the duck. "Or that he smacks, or put me in the closet, or left a big mean bruise on my cheek, or that I got a bleeding lip."

Rose remembered with distinct clarity the angry little puncture wound that had marked the girl's lip when she'd first met her.

"Thank you," said the doctor, and she offered Bella a stick of gum from her pocket.

Always greedy for sweets, Bella plopped it happily into her mouth.

"Now, I want to do another imagining," said the doctor.

"Okay."

"Close your eyes." Bella obeyed.

"Now, imagine that your daddy is right here with us."

Bella frowned.

"Remember you're safe," said the doctor, and she took Bella's hand when she began to pick at her ragged cuticles. "It's only an imagining."

"I know…"

"Now, if your daddy was right here with us, what would you ask or say to him?"

Bella's eyes snapped open, but Rose was surprised to see a genuine curiosity burning in her gaze.

"I would ask him if he was hurting that lady."

Carlisle, frowning, stood up straight and glanced at his wife. Esme shook her head, shrugging, and Rose, as uncomprehending as the other two, stared blankly at the girl through the invisible window.

"That's an interesting question," said the doctor, abandoning the idea of 'imaginings' almost at once. "Why that one?"

"Because I don't know," said Bella, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. _"I_ thought he was hurting her, but she didn't _seem_ hurt…"

"Did you see or hear something strange to make you think so?"

"Yes…"

"Can you tell me what that was?"

"I dunno…" This time, Rose heard a definite note of true confusion in her voice. This was not her traditional evasive answer, as had been demonstrated so many times since Rose had known her, but an expression of true and curious bewilderment.

"Can you try?"

"I guess so…"

"Let's start at the beginning. Where were you when you saw or heard the strange thing?"

"I was coming home, and I _heard_ it first."

"What did it sound like?"

"A robber," she chirped.

"What does a robber sound like?"

"Whispery," said Bella, her head resting on the stuffed duck. "Like you're trying to be quiet."

"What else?"

"Bumping."

"Bumping?"

"Like something being knocked down," said Bella, her voice low and conspiratorial. "But lots of times."

"I see."

Rose didn't.

"And it sounded like someone got hurt," she continued. "But…"

"And how did that sound?"

"Like… I don't know."

Her little nose was scrunched.

"Alright. What else did you hear?"

"Nothing."

"What did you see?"

"Nothing."

"What happened next, then?"

"I followed the noise," said Bella. "I couldn't find daddy, even though his truck was home, but I thought he might be hurt upstairs because of a robber and so I walked up to check."

"And did you find him?"

"Mhm."

"Where was he?"

"In his bedroom."

"I see…" Rose had a sudden, violent urge to grimace. All at once, she understood what the girl must have stumbled on…

"And then, when I opened the door, he was in there, and there was a strange lady, and she had all of her clothes off. Then she shouted, and daddy shouted, and she pushed him out of the bed, and he had no pants on either."

Rose saw Esme purse her lips.

"You saw some adult things," guessed Doctor Jordan, speaking with the sage, wise voice of any knowledgeable adult. "I understand now, honey…"

"But_ I_ don't know," continued Bella. She suddenly seemed agitated. "Because daddy told me that boys and girls are not allowed to be naked together unless they really, really love each other."

"Did he?"

"Yeah..."

"I think it's safe to say he was right about that."

Like a shot, her little head flew up.

"But…"

"Do you have a question about what you saw?"

"Mhm."

"You can ask me anything, Bella. Remember, you're always safe here…

"Does that mean he really, really loved me?"

Rose could have sworn she felt her stomach drop to her feet. Carlisle's grip on the back of his plastic chair tightened so violently that splinters of plastic went soaring through the room on the heels of the _crack_ that split the silence. Esme, black-eyed and disgusted, snarled and turned her back, refusing to meet even Carlisle's gaze as all three of them fought to regain their composure.

They had all known it to be true—from that very first examination in the hospital, to the strange, sometimes unpredictable triggers that set her off, they had known that this poor child's father had used her in one of the cruelest, most heartless ways possible.

But it was one thing to _know_ it to be true, and quite another to _hear_ it from the girl's own mouth.

"What does that mean, sweetheart?" asked the therapist, no longer smiling or jovial.

"Well…" Bella stuttered, her face suddenly red. "He…"

"You're safe," said the doctor again, and Bella shook her head. Momentarily, almost longingly, she glanced up at the mirrored glass, and only Carlisle's tight grip on her wrist kept her still.

"Don't," he ground out, his jaw firmly set. "Let her talk. If we interrupt now and she shuts back down, this information might not come out again for a long while."

Rose stopped straining against his hold, but did not pull her hand away.

"Never mind," said Bella at once, her flaming embarrassment shining bright.

"No, no…" The doctor was quick to backtrack. "No one's in trouble, honey. But what did you mean by that question? I'm afraid I don't quite understand…"

"Well…" She began to tear up again. "I don't_ know_ what he meant!"

"Try and explain to me what made you ask that question."

"He…"

Rose had to close her eyes.

"He came to my room."

"Did he?"

"Mhm."

"And what did he do in your room?"

"He took his pants off."

"Why would he do that?"

"To…" Her little voice grew thin. "I don't _know."_

"Did you see something you weren't supposed to?"

"Mhm."

"Did you touch it?"

When Rose opened her eyes, she saw the girl shake her head.

"No…"

"What happened after daddy took his pants off?"

"He took _my_ pants off. And then when we both had our pants off, he grabbed his…"

Rose couldn't bear to hear another word.

"I can't," she murmured, pulling her hand free from Carlisle's grip. "I can't sit here and listen to _that."_

The girl, tearful and confused, began to recount the horrendous crime in shocking detail.

"Go out into the hall, Rose," growled Carlisle. "No one will think any less of you."

"Call me back in when she finishes," said Rose, cringing as she caught Bella's voice again.

"_He put his hand on my…"_

Rose slipped out of the observation room, the clanging metal door silencing the girl's timid, soft voice.

The clock ticked ever on, Rose listening for any sign of completion in the near silent, still, and sterile hallway. It felt like an eternity before the door opened again, and her stony parents slipped out of the newly-darkened, quiet observation room.

Her father was white as bone.

"She's upset," he said shortly, shaking his head in disgust. "As well she might be."

"Did they get what they needed?" asked Rose, her voice low. "I don't think she could do this again…"

"Yes, they're done," he said. "And no. She absolutely will not be doing this again." Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked, silent and graceful, down the hallway.

"How bad?" asked Rose, facing Esme instead.

"Enough to have him locked up, if the jury has any sense of human decency," she said. "To do such things to a child…"

"Is she crying?"

"I don't doubt it."

"_Was_ she crying?"

"Yes. The poor thing is embarrassed about it, and I know she still doesn't quite understand what he did…"

"Of course she doesn't," scoffed Rose. "She's six years old."

"You did such a good job, Bella. I'm so proud of you."

The sound of crying made Rose leap up from her seat.

At the end of the hallway, turning the corner from the playroom, walked Carlisle and the doctor. The woman looked grimly pleased—Rose fought the urge to slap the suffering smile from her face—though Carlisle, silent and stoic, held the child with a tenderness and care that made Rose pause.

"Come on, sweetheart," he said. "Thank you, Elisha."

"Thank _you_ for doing such a good job, Bella," said the doctor at once. "I'll see you again next week, and I promise, we'll talk about something different next time."

Bella, her face buried obstinately in Carlisle's collar, did not look up.

"What we got should serve them well," said the doctor in an undertone as Carlisle stepped away. "I can't recommend anything more. She's done in."

"Indeed."

Their father was angry.

"Take good care of her tonight," said the therapist. "And don't be surprised by some regression. It's only natural…"

"I know, Elisha." Carlisle was beginning to grow short. "Thank you for all your help."

"If you need me, please call," she said. "Otherwise, I'll see you next week."

"Thank you," said Esme, her hand resting on Bella's heaving back. "Oh, sweetheart…"

At the sound of Esme's voice, her little head picked up and she immediately stuck her arms out, dangling out of Carlisle's grip in favour of her new mother.

"There, now…" Carlisle did not resist as he handed her over. Rose lurked behind the three of them as they walked to the entrance, avoiding the curious, pitying stares from strangers in the lobby as they left.

In the car, Rosalie did not complain when the girl unbuckled herself on the freeway and clambered awkwardly into Rose's lap. Her warm, familiar weight was comforting, and Rose let her cry a storm into her shoulder until they pulled into the quiet, familiar driveway of their home.

Much to Rose's bewilderment, the girl cried harder upon seeing the house.

"Come on," sighed Rose, plucking her carefully from the car. "You did so well, Bella…"

She offered no response.

"Goddamn it…" Rose heard Emmett before she saw him, lurking in the same spot by the window he had occupied when she left. "That fucking asshole…"

"Emmett's coming," said Rose teasingly, hoping to coax a smile. "Look, there he is in the window…"

Nothing.

"Hey!" The cheery, jovial voice was so gregarious that Rose was sure even Bella would catch on to its falseness. "Look who came back! I still want my rematch, Little Bit…"

She continued to cry. Emmett's smile fell at once.

"That fucking asshole," growled Emmett again, his voice too low and soft for Bella to hear. "I _knew_ this would happen…"

"We had no choice," said Carlisle. "Believe me, son, if I could have spared her this, I would have."

"I don't blame _you,"_ grunted Emmett, stepping aside to let Esme through. He reached down and began untying Bella's sneakers. "I blame that mothefu…"

"Don't," warned Rose, gently swaying back and forth in a feeble attempt to assuage the girl. "Don't set her off any more, please…"

"I would never." Emmett's whispered words were accompanied by a large, cool hand running up and down her back. "Hey…"

He spoke loudly enough for her to hear, and Rose heard a hiccup.

"Can I hold you, Little Bit?" The fact that he had to ask made his wife sad. "Come with me…"

Carefully, as if testing the waters, Rose began to shift the girl into Emmett's arms. It hurt to let her go—Rose would hold her forever, if she could—but there was a small spark of hope when she did not resist. The child might be embarrassed. She might be afraid. She might be confused, and angry, and sad all at once, but at least she had not forgotten the love of her family.

"There…" Emmett settled her comfortably in his arms. "There, now…"

She was dwarfed by him. Her little legs were not long enough to wrap around his middle and her arms looked pitiful around his neck. As big and burly as he looked, Emmett handled the girl with the utmost care—Rose knew he would never hurt her, and there was something about watching him with a child that made her heart sing.

"Hey, look…" Emmett carried her to the sofa. "Look at what Jasper did while you were gone."

The sight of their blonde brother, seated cross-legged in a pile of pillows and blankets in the corner of the room, made Rose smile.

"Want to go and check it out?"

For the first time since arriving back home, Bella's little head lifted from Emmett's tear-stained shoulder to gaze around the room. She blinked stupidly as if she had not really quite realized she was home, but at the sight of the familiar faces around her, she began to stifle her tears. When her red, streaming eyes fixed on the strange, unorthodox nest Jasper had compiled for her, and she gave a half-shrug. She loved building tents and forts—something Emmett had discovered with much glee and excitement—and Rose knew it was not a stretch to assume she would also enjoy this new creation.

"Oh, come on…" Emmett tickled her side, and earned himself a quick giggle. "Go and see Jasper."

He put her on her feet, and smiled when she took a few careful steps forward.

"There you go," he praised, taking her hand to help her into the nest. "Good girl…"

"Come here," said Jasper at once. "You seem sad, kiddo…"

And Rose knew then, as Bella fell into Jasper's outstretched arms, that with time, the girl would be okay.


	23. Chapter 23

"She's not upset."

"She _looks_ upset."

"She's not…"

"Then why has she gone quiet?"

"She's just…" Jasper's face screwed up in quiet frustration, "…somber."

"She's _sad."_

"No," he repeated. "She's not _sad, _per se..."

"But she's so _quiet…"_

"I know." Jasper shook his head. "She's… nervous."

Rose growled.

"Hey, honey," She spoke into the dim quiet of the living room. The child started—evidently, she had not seen them lurking in the dusky kitchen—but the usual toothy grin of recognition did not cross her face as her gaze connected with Rose's. Rose watched her scrupulously, her eyes roving over the pale little face. The child's brown eyes peered up from the floor, wide and placid, as if she had not expected someone to be watching her. Her fingers, each tipped with a ragged, torn fingernail, held loosely to two green Lego bricks. Her mouth was set in a slack, emotionless pout, and though Rose raised her brows inquisitively, all the girl did was duck her head to the floor.

"What are you building?"

The tiniest shrug of her thin, bony shoulders was her only answer as she pressed the bricks carefully together.

"Is it…" Rose did not let her worry show in her voice, "…a castle?"

She tossed the bricks aside.

"No?"

Bella brought her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, her thin, white arms wrapped carefully around her legs as she surveyed her inquisitor.

Rose lowered herself to the floor.

"What's going on, sweet thing?" she asked, her lips pursed.

Shrug.

"Are you sick?"

Bella shook her head.

"Are you upset?"

Another no.

"Sad?"

No.

"Worried?"

No.

"Then what?" asked Rose. When she reached out her hand, Rose could feel the warm pulse racing just under the soft skin of her wrist.

"Dunno."

"Are you angry?"

"No…"

"Then what's up?" asked Rose. The house was deathly silent. "I've been peeking from the kitchen for almost ten minutes, and I haven't seen one little smile."

Bella sighed.

"Are they back yet?"

"_Ah."_ Rose heard Jasper's muted realization from the kitchen.

"Not yet, honey," said Rose. "Tomorrow, remember? Jasper and I are here with you now, Alice and Emmett will be back before bedtime, and Carlisle and Esme will be home tomorrow."

"Okay."

She picked up two more Legos. Rose reached out a hand and ran it through her hair.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"You can tell me…"

"_Nothing,"_ insisted Bella. "There's nothing wrong."

Rose sat silent, watching her stack all the green Legos into a teetering, wobbling tower. Everything about her screamed anxiety—Rose had been given a rundown of possible symptoms from her father before he and Esme had left for Seattle.

"_Stiffness, nail biting, fidgeting, silence, brooding, inattention, irritation, crying…"_

"_I know what anxiety looks like, Carlisle."_

"_Not in her you don't," he retorted. "This is straight from Elisha."_

"_I went to medical school once, too, you know." Even to her own ears, her voice was scathing. "I'm not _completely_ useless when it comes to her…"_

"_You're not at all useless when it comes to her," admonished Carlisle. "On the contrary. You've been doing exceedingly well with her."_

"_Sure…"_

"_I'm serious, Rose," said Carlisle. "She's had it rough since that session and none of us are fully equipped to handle it. But we've all been doing our best, and she's responded quite well to you."_

None of the family—not even empathic, intuitive Jasper—had been fully prepared to deal with the sudden onslaught of trouble that had come for their girl after the completion of that horrendous, exhausting session with the therapist. Rose supposed it was the nature of the beast—no one could expect a human, especially a child so young, to endure what that child had gone through without some lasting battle wounds. The girl was anxious—that much had been known from the outset—but just_ how_ anxious she really was had only made itself clear the week before.

"_What's _wrong_, honey?" It had been Esme's turn to tend to her. All night they had been up, as their kind was wont to do, and all night they had listened with consternation as the child fell into fitful slumber before waking in a flurry of tears and noise._

"_Hush now, sweetheart…" Their mother paced the room. "Hush now, and tell me what's the matter."_

"_I don't _want_ to!" the child had wailed. "I don't…"_

"_Alright." Rose had listened from the floor below as Esme began to rock back and forth in a desperate attempt to assuage her. "You just try and take some deep breaths. There's no need to be afraid, sweetheart…"_

_She had cried for a full half hour before falling into another light, fitful sleep on Esme's tearstained shoulder._

_Anxiety_ is what the therapist had called it.

"Bella?"

The girl, still placid and pensive, glanced warily up from her blocks.

"Do you think we need a break?" she asked gently. "We could go outside, just the two of us, or we could ask Jasper if he'd like to go down by the stream…"

Bella loved the little brook that traversed the woods in the back corner of their property.

"No." She shook her head. "No thank you."

"What about a snack?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Some juice?"

"Mm mm."

"Soda?" asked Rose in desperation. "Come to the kitchen with me. I'll pour you some of that cola Emmett bought you…"

"No thank you."

Rose's breath left her in a sigh, and all at once, she watched the set of Bella's spine stiffen. When she glanced up next, the wariness had turned to full blown suspicion, and Rose felt Jasper's niggling, careful influence sneaking through the room before it could escalate to a full blown tantrum.

"Take it easy," warned Rose, tucking a stray hair behind Bella's ear. "You're safe."

"You're mad," said the girl. Rose heard the quaver in her voice, and chastised herself thoroughly for the glazed fear that was creeping onto the child's face.

"No, I'm not mad," said Rose honestly. "I promise."

Bella watched her with narrowed eyes.

"You _sound_ mad," she muttered.

"I'm not," repeated Rose. "But I am _worried."_

"Worried," repeated Bella, nodding to herself. "That's a word that Dr. Jordan uses."

"Is it?" Rose knew this already—she had chosen it deliberately.

"Yes," said Bella. "It's an _emotion."_

"That's right," said Rose. "Are you worried, too?"

"No…" Bella shook her head, setting her Legos down. "Why are _you_ worried?"

"Because I think you're sad," said Rose at once. She saw a spasm on Bella's face before she mastered herself, and Rose waited as patiently as she could.

"I'm not sad," she said finally, bringing a fingernail to her mouth. Rose refrained from chastising her for it.

"Do you want to tell me how you _are_ feeling? It's not like you to be so serious, and it's _definitely_ not like you to refuse soda."

Bella sighed, and Rose felt a great weight lifted from her when the child crawled over on all fours. Rose accepted her tentative embrace at once, letting Bella settle herself carefully on her folded legs with her head tucked securely under the cold, stony chin.

"I don't_ know_ what I feel today," said Bella quietly. Her fingers entwined with Rose's.

"Try," urged Rose. "You know how important Carlisle and Doctor Jordan say talking is…"

"I know," she grumbled, and Rose hid her amusement well. Bella did not like talking about her feelings—she had said as much to Carlisle after the intensive week and a half of sessions with the doctor in Port Angeles. It had taken all of Carlisle's coaxing to even get her to go back to the therapist at all, and more than three hours worth of play time at the bubble station and the crayon table for her to so much as _look_ at Elisha Jordan again.

Rose had been ready to throw in the towel, but her father, in all his wisdom, had implored her to go along just once more—Rose hadn't been sure she would be able to sit and listen to the tearful protests for another hour and a half in the car. The child had refused to leave the house if Rosalie did not come with them, and she had cried so determinedly and resolutely the entire drive to town that Rose had been in half a mind to order the car back home, therapy be damned.

But Carlisle's persistence had paid off—Bella had participated in at least three decent sessions since the filmed testimony, and she seemed to be getting better each and every day. The evidence against her father was insurmountable—Rose was positive that Carlisle and Esme would return from the trial with excellent news.

"So?" Rose broke from her own thoughts as she stroked the child's hair. "Want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't _know_," grumbled Bella again. Her little, white tooth dug into her lip. "I'm just…"

"Just what?" prodded Rose. She felt another of Jasper's soothing pulses.

"Just…" Bella began to pick at her cuticles. "Just…I don't _know_ the word!"

"Well," Rose took her frustration in stride, "why don't you try some words that are kind of the same, and then tell me why they're different?"

Bella huffed.

"Nervous," she began, "but I'm not_ scared."_

"I see."

"And _afraid_, but not _scared."_

"What's the difference?" asked Rose, her forehead puckered. "Aren't scared and afraid the same?"

"No," said Bella resolutely, and Rose held her tongue. "Scared is when you think there's a monster to get you." She spoke with the utmost confidence. "But _afraid_ is when you think that something _bad_ might happen."

"And what do you think is going to happen?" Rose felt her pulse throbbing a little quicker.

"I don't_ know,"_ she admitted. "Carlisle and Esme are gone to Seattle, and Carlisle told me that they were going to make sure _he_," she refused to acknowledge her father by name, "goes to prison, but then he's going to see the movie Doctor Jordan made, and then he'll be angry, and then when he's done in jail he'll come to pick me up, and then he'll make me go back home to the house with the closet and the bedroom and I don't_ want_ to go back to the house or the closet or him…"

"You worry entirely too much, little one," said Jasper suddenly, and Rose felt Bella's cheeks flame as her worry morphed into instant embarrassment. Her brother eased it at once. "Do you remember what Carlisle told you when he left?"

"Yeah, but…"

"What did he tell you?"

"That I was safe here with the rest of you, and that he would make sure that _he_ never got me again, and that if I was a good girl while he was gone, he would bring me back a present. So I tried to be good, but then I got a little kind of scared, and I played in quiet, but then Rose asked me what was wrong, and then…"

"You're not in trouble," said Rose at once. "You're never in trouble for sharing feelings."

"But…"

"No buts," said Rose. She twined the little fingers in her own to keep the child from biting her nails. "You'll never be in trouble for having feelings. And you can tell me about them anytime you feel badly."

"But Doctor Jordan says that I need to practice."

"Practice what?" asked Rose.

"Practice feeling good…" Her voice was small. "Practice making it better so that I can do it all by myself, and I didn't practice so I didn't get to do it by myself and now I'm bad and Carlisle won't bring me my present."

Jasper plucked her patiently from Rose's lap and sat on the sofa, letting her settle on his knee.

"You know…" As Jasper spoke, her fingernails went back to her teeth. "I'm going to tell you a story about Carlisle. Did you know that when I first became a part of this family, I wasn't a very good listener? No…" He interrupted her quiet interjection. "I wasn't. Not good at all. And do you know what Carlisle did?"

"No."

"He told me that I _was_ good," said Jasper. "He told me that as long as I was trying, that I _was_ a good person. I didn't believe him… not at first. But do you know what?"

"What?"

"One day, I really_ was_ the good person he thought I could be, and do you know what he said then?"

"No."

"_I told you so,"_ said Jasper in a whisper. "And do you know what?"

"What?"

"One day, I'm going to say the same thing to _you, _little one_._ Because you're not bad, darlin'. You've _never_ been bad. You're just a little girl who's gone through some scary and unhappy things."

"Mhm…" Bella laid her head on Jasper's chest.

"And that does _not_ make you _bad,"_ he admonished. "That just means that it's going to take some time to work through all the _feelings."_ She grimaced so comically that Rose had to chuckle.

"I know you hate them," Jasper said, "but one day, you'll be glad you talked them through."

"But I'm not _good_ at it," she lamented. "I'm not good enough."

"You _are_ good enough," he returned at once. "You'll _always_ be good enough, honey, and don't ever forget that."

Bella sighed, looking dubiously up at his calm, serious face before she snuggled closer, thinking it all over as he wrapped her carefully in a soft afghan.

* * *

"_It's gone exactly as I anticipated it would," _said Carlisle. His voice was echoing and tinny—not even Emmett's state of the art iPhone could amend that—but all four of them crowded around nonetheless, each with an ear trained carefully on the silently sleeping child on the second floor.

"Is there_ any_ chance?" asked Jasper quietly. "I know how those defense lawyers can be, Carlisle…"

"_Not as far as I can tell,"_ said Carlisle. _"He hasn't got the most prestigious representation, but even a good lawyer would have a rough time getting him out of this one. He's going to prison—not even he can deny that—but the most he can hope for now is a reduced sentence."_

"On what grounds?" ejaculated Rose. Her husband's echoing growl resounded through the room. "They must have seen her testimony by now…"

"_Oh, they have,"_ said Carlisle darkly. _"That would have been the final nail in his coffin had they not already been won over by the physical evidence presented by the state prosecutor."_

Rose could almost taste the bile in her throat.

"_What he did to that child is absolutely deplorable,"_ said Carlisle finally, and Rose could almost hear the shake in his voice. _"And I mean_ deplorable_. They have evidence from all over that house. He's trying to say that he's got an addiction problem—he tested positive for both drugs and alcohol at the time of his incarceration—and his lawyer tried to argue that the stress of single parenthood drove him over the edge. But I don't think even _he _bought it."_

"Is there a chance of him getting off?" asked Alice quietly, her elfin face contorted into a disgusted grimace. "If that works on the jury… is he going to get her back?"

"_No,"_ said Carlisle at once, speaking over his wife's angry retort in the background.

"_Over my dead body."_

"_No, Shirelle Williams ensures me that even if he receives the bare minimum in terms of sentencing, that child will never be returned to his care. This judge is all for family reunions—you heard what Williams said to us on her last home visit—but with all the evidence amassed against him, there's no way in hell he's getting her back."_

"Have you filed the paperwork?" asked Jasper keenly. "I wanted so badly to tell her this afternoon…"

"_What happened this afternoon?"_ Concern rang in every syllable. _"Did she have another episode?"_

That was what Carlisle had been calling her bouts of anxiety.

"No," said Rose, cutting in before Jasper could. "She got a little worked up this afternoon, but it worked itself out."

"_Worked up over what?"_

"Over you," said Jasper gently. "And over the therapist."

Carlisle waited, silence echoing over the line, for Jasper to elaborate.

"She was anxious about what her father would see in the courtroom," said Jasper. "I guess someone mentioned to her that the videotaped session would be used as evidence, and she was concerned that if Charles Swan saw it in court, he might retaliate."

"_I see."_ Their father was not pleased.

"So Rose and I got her to talk, and she calmed down. But she mentioned that Doctor Jordan told her she should work on sharing, and she thought that if she didn't, you'd think she was misbehaving."

"_I really wish we could make her understand," _said Esme, chiming in once more._ "But she's just too young. The poor thing can't make heads or tails of it…"_

"We worked through it," said Jasper gently. "Nothing dramatic and nothing overly concerning. She and I had a good talk and I think I've got her convinced that needing help doesn't make her _bad_, but I wanted so badly to tell her what your 'surprise' is."

"_I don't think she'll find it nearly as exciting as we do,"_ said Carlisle, a chuckle in his voice. _"Shirelle Williams says there won't be a problem just as soon as her father is out of the way."_

"I don't know about that," protested Alice. "I think she'll be excited once she understands what it means."

"I think so too," said Emmett. Rose saw his arms flex as he leaned back against the wall. "She's so afraid of being _'sent back'…"_

"_Well, perhaps," said Carlisle. "How's she been tonight, as far as sleep goes?"_

"Sound asleep for three hours," chirped Alice. "I put her to bed myself. She didn't even protest when I turned the hall light off."

"_Excellent," _said Carlisle. The satisfaction in his voice was almost palpable. _"You'll let us know if anything changes?"_

"Of course," said Rose. "We always do."

"_Call if she needs anything," _chimed Esme. _"Even if it's only to talk…"_

"She'll be just fine," said Alice at once. "I might not be able to pin down her future, but I do know that with four of us here, nothing catastrophic will happen."

"Famous last words," muttered Emmett. Rose, grimacing, swatted her hand out. It connected with his chest with a sharp _crack_, and Alice glared at the both of them as Bella began to shift in her bed.

"Quiet, you two," she hissed. "If you wake her and she starts crying…"

"Sorry, sorry…" Emmett rubbed his chest. "Shit, babe. You know I'm only kidding."

Rose turned away, glowering at the phone.

"_You_ keep _us_ updated," she countered, snatching the phone from the center of the table. "If anything happens, or if that woman changes her mind about filing the paperwork…"

"_Of course,"_ said Carlisle graciously. _"But I don't think we need to worry on that front. With everything they've been presented with, there's no way he'll be found innocent. It's only a matter of how long he'll get."_

In Rose's opinion, no stretch of time would be long enough to atone for the sins he had committed against that child upstairs.

"We'll see you tomorrow, then," said Rose quietly. "Assuming all goes well."

"_It will,"_ said Esme. _"You all take care. We'll be home with good news, I'm sure."_

When the call ended, the soft _click_ of the hotel phone leaving only hissing static on the other end, the quiet in the house was overwhelming. Their sensitive, predatory hearing could make out sounds that would otherwise go unnoticed—the hum of electricity through the wires in the walls, the rush of wind through the evergreens at the edge of the yard, the soft glug of pipes under the sinks and toilets, and the gentle, rhythmic puffs of breath coming from the sleeping girl upstairs. Without these sounds to mitigate the silence, Rose's ears would have been ringing.

"She's sound asleep," said Jasper quietly, his eyes fixed carefully on the patch of ceiling underlying Bella's darkened bedroom. "I don't sense any anxiety from her at all."

"She had a good night," reasoned Emmett, stretching his arms out before him. He tickled Rose's arm with the ends of his fingers. "I know she had a weird day, but she seemed to have a good time playing…"

"I'm surprised you let her win," said Alice wryly. "I thought for sure she'd give up on you after all…"

"Aw, I had to let her have some fun," chuckled Emmett. "And besides. If I never give her a taste of victory, she'll give up on me and then no one will ever play."

"Poor baby," mocked Alice. "What a sad life that would be."

"You're telling me." Emmett kept a straight face.

"You'll let me know if anything changes?" Rose spoke to Jasper, cutting through Alice's giggle with tired defeat. "She doesn't always get out of bed anymore, even when she's upset…"

"I'll let you know," assured Jasper. "I'll keep to the bedroom tonight to keep an eye out. She'll be safe, Rose."

"Thanks." Rose needed a rest. "I'll be upstairs if you need me."

"Be right with you, babe," said Emmett. Rose appreciated his sudden sobriety. "It's been a while since we spent a night just laying around together…"

"Yeah, it has," agreed Rose. "I'm going to shower. Meet you up there?"

"Sure thing."

* * *

"_Guilty."_

The thrill that ran through Rose at the sound of Carlisle's grim satisfaction was sharp and righteous. She could almost taste the victory on her tongue—the poignant, honeyed rush of triumph so sharp that even Bella, who sat squirming on Rose's cold, hard lap, took note.

"What's wrong?" she asked sweetly, setting down her picture book on the sofa next to them. "You look very serious." She turned right around and took Rose's cheeks in her hands.

"Nothing at all, sweet girl," said Rose at once, pressing the warm, little palms to her lips. "Everything is very, very right."

"Why?" asked the child, cocking her head.

"Because," said Rose mysteriously, her ears trained on Jasper's barely audible phone conversation.

"Because why?"

"Because," Rose tickled the child in an impulsive display of excitement, "Jasper just got some very good news on the telephone."

"How do you know?" asked Bella quickly, leaning back to glance through to the kitchen. Rose was quick to catch her—the girl had no sense of distance or balance—and held her fast.

"I just know," said Rose, too pleased to worry over Bella's suspicion. "Look at him… doesn't he look happy?"

"I guess…" shrugged Bella, pulling herself upright again. She wrapped her legs around Rose's waist, tucking her feet between Rose's cold back and the sofa. Rose hugged her close. "What's the good news?"

"It's a surprise," said Rose. She focused on Carlisle's voice.

_"Seven years,"_ she heard him say, grim. _"The defense tried for four, plus time served…"_

"What time served?" Jasper's low rumble was cold. "He served almost _no_ time… not until that last bail violation."

"_I know,"_ said Carlisle. _"Your mother is furious over it… she thinks he should have gotten three times what he did. But we'll take what we can get. And I think it's high time we focus on the positives. Our paperwork was submitted today—Jenks helped us push it through—and we expect that in only a few weeks, everything will be finalized."_

"And her name?" asked Jasper. Bella's stammering little voice began to stumble through the book once more. Rose took no notice.

"_That's up to her,"_ said Carlisle softly. _"We'll ask her about all of that when we get home…"_

"When _do_ you get back?" asked Jasper curiously. "She's had a good day… I'm sure she'd like to hear the good news."

"_In about two hours,"_ said Carlisle._ "We're already…"_

"…Rosalie!"

Rose blinked, her eyes snapping down to the agitated, harassed child on her lap.

"Sorry, honey," she chuckled. "What's wrong?"

"I gotta _pee!"_ She wriggled furiously against Rose's firm grip. "And your arms are_ stuck!"_

"My apologies," she laughed, releasing the girl. At once, she leapt from Rose's lap and tripped over the edge of Esme's soft Persian rug, falling hard on her knees. Rose grimaced and went to help her up, but before she could lay a hand on her, Bella was back on her feet.

"I'm okay!" she cried, already halfway to the washroom. She slammed the door behind her—the girl always slammed doors when she was in a hurry—and Rose went to join Jasper in the kitchen.

"She's fine," she said at once, seeing the look of concern on Jasper's face. "She tripped. Nothing new."

"Klutz!" Emmett's jubilant shout echoed down the stairs.

"I heard that!" cried Bella, drying her hands. "I'm not _deaf_, you know, and that's a _rude_ thing to say!"

"Oh yeah? Why don't you come up _here_ and say that?"

"Fine!" Rose caught the little figure scampering up the stairs from the corner of her eye as she joined her brother in the kitchen, where he lounged languidly against the granite counter, the phone held to his ear.

"We'll see you when you get home, then," said Jasper quietly. "We'll all be waiting."

"_Tell Bella we'll see her soon."_

"We will."

"_And don't tell her about the adoption. Your mother would like to be the one to do that."_

"Of course," said Rose. Had she been human, her heart would have been pounding in her chest. She could almost feel the tantalizing excitement sending goosebumps down her arms, little dancing pinpricks standing her hair on end.

"_Of course, you can all be there too," _said Esme at once. _"I just want to make sure she understands what that means. I'd hate for her to come away with the wrong idea…"_

"No, I get it," said Rose. She could not even find it in her to feel jealous of her mother. "She'll be so happy Esme… I just know it."

"_I certainly hope so," _said Esme quietly. _"But tell her we'll be home in a little while. We look forward to seeing her."_

It was with a light and buoyant heart that Rose loped up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with Emmett, leaving Jasper to finish up with their parents in the kitchen. She heard the giggles even before she reached the landing—the raucous, pealing belly laughs ringing through the closed door only made Rose's smile wider.

When she entered the room, she saw Emmett on his back with the child sprawled on top of him, the tips of his fingers running mercilessly over her sides and neck.

"Stop it!" squealed Bella, though to her credit, her own fingers were running hopelessly along Emmett's own ribs. "Mercy! Mercy!"

"No mercy for little girls!" guffawed Emmett, continuing his assault. Her face was red and her hair was a mess, but in that moment, Rose thought she had never looked so beautiful.

"Good news, sweetheart," she said, lounging in the doorway.

"Rosalie!" Bella gasped through her laughter. "Save me!"

She snatched the girl right up when her arms shot out, and Emmett good-naturedly let her go.

"What a cheater you are," he said, "calling in reinforcements…"

"I didn't call her!" groused Bella. She stuck her little tongue out at him. "She just came at the right time!"

"Yeah, I'm so sure…" Emmett remained lounged on the bed. "But what's up, babe? Why are you interrupting our torture session?"

"Well…" Some of the colour that had risen so brilliantly in Bella's cheeks began to die down. "Carlisle just called, and he would like me to let you two know that he and Esme will be back in a few hours."

Bella continued to giggle.

"Can you tickle Emmett, Rosalie?" she asked. "I tried to, but he's too strong…"

"I'm afraid that's a lost cause, little one," said Rose. "That big lug isn't at all ticklish."

"No fair!" she cried, outraged. "How come?"

"Practice," winked Emmett. His voice, though jovial and teasing, did not bely the worry that had suddenly filled his eyes. The girl was not looking at Rose—she instead fixed her aggrieved gaze on Emmett as if trying to discern just where his weakness could be—and Rose took the opportunity to mouth the fateful word to him.

_Guilty._

The grim triumph that transformed his face was halted only by the girl's sudden suspicion. Wiggling herself free from Rose's arms, she hopped back onto the bed, her hands on her hips as she glared at Emmett's upside-down face. Rose supposed her own look of feigned innocence did not endear her husband any more, and when the curious, observant little eyes caught it, Bella turned sharply back to Emmett.

"Are you telling secrets?"

"I didn't say a word!" Emmett spoke with false indignation. "How, Missy, could I tell secrets if I didn't even _speak?"_

"I don't know." Her eyes narrowed. "But I think you _did."_

"Did not!"

"Did to!" she accused, turning back around to face Rose. "Did he tell you how to defeat him?"

"Defeat him?" asked Rose, taken aback. "I have no idea what you're talking about…"

"He _did!"_ The child was comically affronted as she wheeled back to Emmett.

"I did not!" laughed Emmett, amused and surprised. "How could I?"

"_You_ said," began Bella, her finger pointing sternly at his nose, "that Rosalie knew _all_ about how to get you back. And _then _you said that if _she_ said she didn't know, that she was just covering for you because she's your wife and if she didn't then you'd have a _altercation. _And then you just _dared_ me to go and ask her and see what she said, only I didn't, and I forgot, but now, I _remembered!_ How do I do it, Rosalie? And what's a _altercation?"_

The stunned silence that followed only served to agitate her further.

"An altercation means an argument," said Emmett finally, laughing. "And you've got an _excellent_ memory, Little Bit."

"Mhm…"

"Why don't you come with me?" said Rose, ignoring the rest of the startling speech she had made. "We can make a snack, and I'll keep you safe from Emmett and his tickling hands."

"Good idea," said Bella somberly, refusing to take her eyes off of Emmett as she backed up towards Rose. She knew he was sneaky—he had managed to startle her and catch her off guard more than once during her months with them—and Emmett laughed wholeheartedly at the look of guarded suspicion on her face.

"You're learning, kiddo," he said. "Soon, you really will be able to get me back."

"But _how?"_ she whined.

All he did was wink.

* * *

They were in the living room, all seated quietly around the glowing, crackling fire when Esme and Carlisle returned home. Alice had Bella's undivided attention—the girl was enraptured by Alice's rendering of _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,_ a copy of which she had found hidden away in a dark corner of Carlisle's study. Rose knew at once that the book was an antique—everything from the papery dustjacket to the gilded edges of each page marked it as valuable, but they all knew that Carlisle would not mind. It delighted their father that the child took such pleasure in reading, and far be it from him to deprive her of that joy for the simple sake of an old book. Rose and Emmett sat, heads together, on the loveseat, deep in conversation while Jasper rested by the window, his face turned to stare at the silvery, glowing moon. The wind through the pine needles soothed him—the forest always did—and it was only when he caught the first rumblings of tires on their long, winding driveway that he turned his head away from the trees and faced his family.

"They're coming," he said softly.

"Where?" Bella was the first one out of her seat. She rushed to the window at once.

"You can't see them yet," said Jasper gently. "But if you watch, just _there," _he pointed to a distant curve in the path, "you'll see them as they come up."

"How do _you_ know they're there?" she asked, shuffling up to sit on his lap. Jasper was surprised at the ease of this action—the forest, they had discovered, was frightening to her, especially at night, and it was often the case that they would sit with the shades drawn so that no eerie shadows could cast their shapes on the wall, and no swaying, towering trees could be seen from any of the windows.

"I saw them up _there,"_ lied Jasper easily, pointing to a spot about a half mile off. "No one ever turns down our driveway, especially not at night, and so I know it just has to be them."

"I'm glad they're coming home," said Bella earnestly. "I liked staying with you, but I miss grownups."

Jasper chuckled.

"They'll be glad to see you, too," said Jasper quietly. "I know they've got some good news, and I think Esme has a surprise for you."

"The present?" asked Bella seriously, her face alight with sudden curiosity. She had been trying for a day and a half to discern just what it was that Carlisle and Esme would bring home for her. She had been bouncing ideas off of everyone for hours—she went from a doodad for her shelf, to a new book from Barnes and Noble, to a kitten with a red bow, to a Hershey's chocolate bar that she hadn't been allowed to buy at the grocery store the week before. They all knew that the real gift was none of these things—though they were sure that their parents _had_ picked her out a tangible gift to fulfill their promise—but the child, who had no real understanding of the business they had undertaken in the city, had no way of knowing the truth.

"There, see?" asked Jasper. The rumbling was louder now, and even Bella could make out the glowing headlights flashing between the trees down the lane. She bounced excitedly in her seat.

"I'm going to wait by the door so I can say hello," she said. She loped away from the window just before the car came into view, and Rose laughed when she saw her bouncing on the balls of her feet just inches from the front door.

"Careful you don't get hit," warned Rose, urging her back a foot or two. "Leave them room to open the door."

"I know…" The bouncing increased as she backed away. "Listen! I can hear their feet!"

The sound of Esme's shoes on the wooden veranda echoed through the house.

"So you can…"

The door swung open.

"Esme!" The squeal made them all laugh. "You came home!"

"We certainly did…" Bella had wrapped herself resolutely around their mother. "Did you think we wouldn't?"

"No," said Bella cheerfully. "But it's still nice of you to come home."

"I'm glad you're happy to see us," she chuckled, stepping inside. Carlisle followed behind her, bags in hand, and Bella was quick to greet him too.

"It's good to see you," he said, hugging her when she wrapped her arms about his neck. "Did you have fun with the others?"

"Mhm…"

"Did you do your schoolwork?"

"Mhm…"

"Did you have a good sleep?"

"Yeah. I didn't even wake up once!"

"That's wonderful news."

"Mhm."

"And I didn't cry hardly at all."

"That's good."

"And Emmett tickled, and I think he and Rosalie were telling secrets, and Jasper told me a story about_ you."_

"Oh dear…" Carlisle carried her back to the living room. "About _me? _All good things, I hope?"

"Mhm. He said that _you_ said that he was _good, _but he thought he was _bad."_

"Indeed."

"Yeah."

She rested her head, comfortable and content, on his shoulder.

"Do you want to hear about our trip?"

Bella sat up in his arms.

"I dunno. Was it a nice trip?"

"Kind of," said Esme. The pair sat down on the sofa.

"Did you go to the mall?"

"No," laughed Carlisle, "but we did stop by a particularly interesting antique store, and once we unpack our suitcases, I'll show you the neat bauble we found for you."

"Another treasure?" guessed Bella rapturously. "I _like_ treasures."

"I know you do," chuckled Carlisle. "But go on. Ask about Seattle."

"What did you _do?"_ she sang.

"We did plenty of things," said Carlisle. "We went to the store, like we said, and we went to our hotel, and we spoke with some people…"

"_Which_ people?"

"Doctor Jordan," Carlisle counted off on his fingers. "Miss Williams, Judge Palmer…"

"Who's that?"

"Judge Palmer?"

"Mhm."

"He's the man who runs the courtroom," said Carlisle. His voice was gentle—Rose knew he was testing the waters to see how she would react—and to their relief, she remained calm and still.

"What's a courtroom?"

"It's a place where people go to decide if someone is innocent or guilty."

"What's innocent?"

"It means you didn't do a bad thing."

"What's… the other one?"

"Guilty? It means you _did_ do a bad thing," explained Carlisle patiently.

"Oh."

"Do you want to know why we were there?"

"I _know_ why," said Bella softly. "It's because of… _him."_

"You're a very smart cookie," praised Carlisle. "You're absolutely right."

Rose saw her shiver.

"I don't want to talk about him." She began to squirm and he released her, without so much as a frown, into Esme's arms.

"We don't have to talk_ about_ him," said Carlisle quickly. "Not like you do with Doctor Jordan."

"Good." Esme smoothed her hair.

"But I do have something to say about what happened in the courtroom, if you'll let me tell you."

"Was_ he_ there?"

"He was," said Carlisle calmly. The child frowned. "And do you know what?"

"What?"

"The judge listened to everything everyone had to say, including _you…"_

"Oh…" Her cheeks flushed pink, and one look from Esme had Jasper's calming gift filtering through to ease her embarrassment.

"And the judge decided that he was _guilty._"

"Guilty?" She tested the word on her tongue.

"Guilty," confirmed Carlisle. "And do you know where guilty people go?"

"To prison?" guessed Bella, recalling the conversation they'd had before the trip. "To the jail for people who do bad things?"

"Spot on," winked Carlisle. "You're absolutely right."

"Well…" Rose saw her little brow furrow, "that's good."

"It is," agreed Carlisle. "But do you know what that means now?"

"No…" She began to play with the curled ends of Esme's hair.

"That means that he can't take care of you anymore."

"He already wasn't taking care of me," said Bella, only a little mulishly. _"You_ are."

"That's right again," said Carlisle, his calm smile never wavering. "But do you know what that means?"

"No."

"It means," Esme cut in, "that you're now officially a ward of the state."

"What's a ward?"

"Someone who is being taken care of."

"Washington takes care of me?" she asked, confused. "Are _you_ Washington?"

"No," laughed Esme. "But Shirelle Williams works for Washington."

"I don't like her."

"I know."

"Is she going to come and get me?"

"No, honey," said Esme. "That's what we're trying—and _failing, _I daresay—to get across. Now that you're a ward of the state and your father is no longer a factor…"

"What's a factor?"

"Something that matters," said Esme quietly. "And now that all of those things have happened…"

"That Washington is taking care of me and that _he_ doesn't matter?" she interrupted.

"Yes, sweetheart," said Esme. "You've got it. And now that _that's_ happened…"

"Do I have to go away?" Her voice grew thin.

"No," said Esme at once. "No, honey, just listen…"

"I don't _want_ to go away."

"No one's sending you anywhere…"

"I don't want to go with Miss Williams."

"You're not going to go with Miss Williams…"

"But I don't _want_ to…"

"What Carlisle and I are trying to say is that now that you're officially a ward of the state, it's possible for another family to adopt you." Esme spoke in a rush, cutting across Bella's unfinished concern. The look of consternation on her face dropped away almost at once as she blinked, frowning, her mouth turned down.

"What's that mean?"

"Adopt?"

"Mhm…" She rested her face against Esme's neck.

"It means…" Esme pulled her gently upright. "It means that you can have a new family—a proper family."

"Like Anne?"

"Yes, Sweet Pea, like Anne," cut in Rose with a laugh. "Just like Anne."

"Will I have to go to Canada?" she asked plaintively. "_You_ said it's cold there."

"You don't have to go to Canada," said Rose gently.

"Do I have to go to Green Gables?"

"No…"

"Do I have to be nice to Mrs. Rachel Lynde?"

"Honey, listen…"

"Because when _Anne_ was adopted _she_ had to go to Green Gables and be nice to Mrs. Rachel," said Bella somberly. "And I think it would be kind of fun, but I would miss you. And I don't want to go there if _you're _not there, Rosalie, because then I would be very sad. And Mrs. Rachel would call me ugly."

"No," said Esme, cutting in before Rose could. "No, honey. Just listen for a moment. What we're saying is that now that you're free from your father, you can be adopted by a new family. Normally, Miss Williams would place you with a foster family—that's what we've been to you since you came to us—and if someone wanted to adopt a child just like you, they could let you meet them and take you home."

"I don't _want_ to go home with another family!" Rose was dismayed to see the tears brimming in her eyes. "I don't _want_ to go away!"

"No, Bella," said Esme, a pitying amusement playing around the edges of her mouth. She wiped the tears from the child's cheeks with the pad of her thumb. "Just _listen."_

Bella sniffled.

"No one's going to send you away, don't you see?" The confused frown on Bella's face grew. "What we're trying to tell you is that _we'd_ like to be the ones to keep you."

The child gasped, her eyes growing wide.

"Keep me?"

"Yes, you sweet, obstinate thing," said Alice suddenly, bounding up from her chair. "You talk entirely too much for your own good sometimes. But what mom and dad are trying to tell you is that we'd very much like for you to stay with us, and grow up with us, and be a part of this family, if you'd be so kind as to let us."

Bella blinked.

"So I don't have to leave?"

"Never," vowed Carlisle easily. "We've already given Miss Williams all the paperwork, and she's going to bring it to Judge Palmer…"

"The same guy who put _him_ in jail?"

"The very same," said Carlisle quickly. "But before we make it permanent and final, we wanted to ask you first."

"Ask me what?"

"If you would like to be a part of this family for good," said Esme. "Because _we_ want _you,_ but we need to make sure that _you_ want _us,_ too."

"I do," said Bella earnestly, and Rose felt a weight lifted off of her chest. "I _do_ want you."

"Then so be it," smiled Carlisle, rising from his seat on the sofa. Rose expected him to take the child, to scoop her up as she knew he was wont to do and love her like she should have been loved by the father who had so cruelly mistreated her. She expected him to take her, to kiss away the worries and fears of this child who was well beyond her years, and to tell her all the wonderful things they could do once she shared his name. She had expected him to kiss his wife, to cuddle this small, awkward little creature who had so suddenly and startlingly stumbled upon them, and to dream about the beautiful and wonderful life they would now share with her for the rest of her living days.

So when Rose felt his arms around _her_, instead, it was only after a moment of shock that she brought her own up in return. Rose watched as Esme turned away, the girl held easily on her hip, as Emmett and their siblings went to give congratulatory kisses.

"I hope I've done right by you," whispered Carlisle suddenly, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. "I hope you know that I love _you_ just as I love _her."_

Their family, all gathered around the bewildered child in jubilant congratulations, was not watching.

"I do," she breathed. "I'm sorry I ever made you think otherwise."

"I hope she'll make you happy."

"She will," said Rose at once, her arms tightening impulsively around him. "She _does."_

Her father kissed her cheek—a rare, strangely warm gesture—and let her go.

And with a sudden thrill of excitement that shook her to her core, Rose opened her eyes as her father backed away to see her mother's smiling face as she relinquished Bella to Emmett, the child squealing as his fingers loomed threateningly over her ribs. She erupted into impulsive giggles when they ran over her sides and Rose relished the noise—the sound of Bella's joy would never cease to thrill—and as she watched the two, husband and girl, draped so easily on the living room sofa, the thought floated in as easy as a dream.

_She was theirs._


	24. Epilogue

The white Alaskan snow sparkled on the hard, packed earth as Edward stood motionless, staring up at the great stone house. The world around him was still, as frozen and peaceful as the frosty arctic chill that had settled so quickly and suddenly over the land. The sky was an inky blue—the same shade of cobalt he'd seldom seen over the smoggy cities of Beijing and Shanghai. The evening was cloudless—he could see the stars just beginning to peek from the seemingly endless chasm of the twilight sky, and though the warm, tawny glow from the house's vast front window illuminated his face in buttery light, the silver pinpricks were not diminished. The moon was behind him, her great, silvery face sending the tops of tree-shaped shadows stretching across the ground. The night was quiet and clear, and if he craned his neck just far enough to see past the eastern wall of the homestead, he was sure he could see the green glow of the auroras.

"_Emmett, be a dear and bring this up to the back room. It's Bella's, but I'd hate to wake her so soon after she's fallen asleep. She's just worn out from all the travelling…"_

His mother's voice—so soft and sweet even though she was far away—made Edward smile.

"_Sure thing, Ma." _His brother. _"Give me that one, too…"_

"_You're a peach. Thank you."_

"_Esme, what do you think of taking the third floor spare for the schoolroom?"_

"_I think that would be lovely..."_

"_I know we usually keep it open when he's not here, but it's got the most space, and I think Bella would really enjoy it up there. It's got great light…"_

"_I quite agree, my dear. It's a wonderful idea. It's nice and big, and Edward always says it has excellent acoustics."_

"_And what would you say if I stole that bookshelf we've got up in the attic? It's rather old, I know, but it's got great bones. I could have Emmett spruce it up… sand it down and give it a nice coat of varnish. I know she'd love to have her own bookshelf. She was so upset when we told her the built-ins back in Washington couldn't come with us."_

"_Of course, dear."_

"_I'll grab it, babe."_ Edward was pleased to hear Emmett's easy acquiescence. _"I'm sure I saw it up there somewhere. Maybe back in the corner…"_

"_Oh, if you're heading up now, would you take this?" _Edward heard the rough sliding of a heavy cardboard box against the hardwood. _"It's all of Carlisle's old medical files…"_

"_Why does he cart those around, Esme?"_ That was Alice. _"Every time we move, the poor man packs up the boxes from the old attic and drags them to the new house, and then he has to cart them out again to put them in the new attic…"_

"_Because,"_ his father sounded amused, _"they might come in handy."_

"_I doubt it."_

Carlisle simply laughed.

"_We should have everything in order by tomorrow, I think,"_ he said. _"That is… if she doesn't wake up in the middle of the night."_

"_She might…"_

Esme was cut short when Alice let out a gasp. Edward saw the images flashing through her mind like a film.

_Himself, standing as he was now, on the edge of the treeline surrounding their remote, northern home._

_His father, wrapping him in a warm, welcoming embrace._

_His sister, taking him by the hand and leading him into the familiar space, through a maze of boxes and detritus._

_His eyes darkening as the scent—_her _scent—filtered through the open door of the upstairs bedroom._

_Her little, white face scrunched in sudden discomfort, her lavender eyelids resolutely closed as she kicked her blankets away…_

_His lips, ever so gentle, on the sleeping child's cheek._

"What is it, Alice?" asked Jasper. "Did you see something?"

"Oh…" His sister came back to the present with jubilant and ecstatic glee. "Oh, yes!"

"What is it?" chuckled Jasper. "I haven't seen you this excited since…"

"Go look outside." Through Esme's eyes, Edward watched Alice point a long, talon-like fingernail at their father. "Go now."

"Why?" Carlisle was immediately suspicious. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," said Alice quickly, leaping gracefully over an upturned crate. "No…"

"Then what?"

"Go _outside!"_ she chirped again, and even through the closed doors and windows, he heard her clap her hands together.

"Hush!" Esme chastised. "You'll wake Bella!"

"Oh, go on, Carlisle!"

"If this is some sort of trick…"

"Have I _ever_ been known to trick you?" demanded Alice, shoving a pair of loafers she'd fished from a nearby box into his hands. "Go! I promise you won't regret it!"

"You're loco, Alice." Emmett shook his head before turning to his wife. "Come upstairs, babe. We can get our stuff set up…"

"Oh, no you don't," said Alice at once. "Stay right there."

Through the window, Edward saw Emmett's silhouette freeze. At the same moment, he saw the front door swing open, the rippling heat from the house distorting the tall, leonine figure haloed in welcoming light. As soon as the door swung shut, Edward heard his father take a long, deep breath, and as the northern wind blew from behind him towards the house, he saw his father freeze.

_Son?_

"I'm here," said Edward softly. His father's thoughts, as always, were full of gentle kindness, and Edward, moving out of the shadows, took a careful step into the circle of light.

_We've missed you._

"Welcome home." The words and thoughts hit him at the same time, and though he took slow, careful steps towards the vast house, Carlisle met him long before he could reach it.

And just like in the vision, he was wrapped in a familiar, strong embrace.

"Thanks, dad." Though his voice was subdued, Edward could not mistake his largest brother's curious, impetuous face peering out from the front window. He could only be nervous for a moment—the wide, cracking smile that split Emmett's face was enough to put him off his guard, and when his brother came outside—barefoot and laughing—Edward prepared himself for the ensuing chaos.

"You came home!" he chuckled, snatching him away from their father and into a bone-breaking hug. "Good on you, bro. How long you staying?"

"Not long," admitted Edward. Emmett thumped him on the back. "I just came to check in."

"Well, I'm sure mom will be glad to see you."

"I hope so."

"Oh_ Edward!"_ Esme stood in the doorway.

"Hello mom," he said easily. He made it to her in a blur of colour and embraced her heartily. "You look well. How are you?"

"Never mind _me,"_ she said, pulling back to peer at him with a scrutinizing gaze. "How are _you?"_

"Quite well," he replied. The warm air from the house beckoned him inside. "May I…?"

He gestured silently towards the open door.

"Of course," Esme said, stepping cautiously aside. "Are you sure you'll be okay…?"

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "I _am_ fine."

"So long as you're sure."

Edward said nothing but stepped inside and took off his wet shoes—they were a little worse for wear after his run through the woods. He set them gingerly by the door.

The wood felt warm on his bare feet.

"Everyone is in the living room. Except the little one, that is. She's asleep upstairs. The poor dear was completely worn out after the day we've had…"

"Oh?"

Edward dawdled in the entranceway.

"She was upset when we left," said Esme lowly, ushering him away from the door. "She knew we were leaving, but I don't think she really understood until we packed her into the car and drove off…"

"The poor thing cried all the way to Canada," said Rosalie softly, and Edward glanced up, careful and calm, at her stoic, but not unhappy, face. "And that was only yesterday. We drove all the way in one shot to cut down on our travel time and when she woke up on a highway in The Middle of Nowhere, British Columbia, the whole production started all over again."

"I'm sorry to hear it," he said gently.

"So were we," she returned, and to his great surprise, it was she who offered him a careful, welcoming hand.

"Come into the living room," she said. "Everyone's waiting."

And so he did.

Boxes and crates were strewn about the room, looking for all intents and purposes as if a hurricane had torn its way through. Edward knew that his family was used to moving—the mess would not burden them any longer than was necessary—and Edward knew then that he must have just caught them. Had he arrived a few hours prior, as he had originally planned, he might have missed them altogether.

Or worse still, he might have been met with _her._

And he could not—_would _not—cause her any more distress. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to whoever had inspired his last minute hunting trip—it had not been strictly necessary, but it was, nevertheless, a blessing.

"Come through," said Rosalie, her long, thin fingers held tightly to his own. He let her lead him—it was so rare that Rosalie was so forthcoming with any kind of affection—and he watched in a half-amazed, half-wary daze as she directed him to the sofa.

_Are you well?_ Her thoughts expressed all the concern she refused to show to anyone else. _If it's too difficult for you, we can move outside…_

He gave her one, discreet nod.

_Very well._ She sat down next to him. _If at any time you can't handle it, no one will think any less of you if you have to take a break._

Another nod.

"Oh, stop hogging!" squealed Alice, her shrill voice earning her a soft _"shush!" _from Esme.

All seven of them held their breath as the child upstairs—oblivious to Edward's arrival—tossed in her bed.

"If you wake her, Alice…" Emmett was suddenly grumpy. "Let the poor kid have _one night."_

"Sorry, sorry…" Alice's tiny arms wrapped around his neck. "I've missed you, brother…"

Edward chuckled, patting her spiky head.

"Has she not been sleeping?" His question was thrown to Emmett.

"Nah," he shrugged. Edward did not miss the way he leaned against the banister, putting himself between Edward and the staircase. "She's been upset ever since we started shipping some of our things up here. Crying in the car is just the tip of the iceberg. She's been up at all hours, worrying and fretting…"

"And for no good reason." His mother was suddenly put out.

"She was afraid," said Jasper gently. "I've said it before. We might have adopted her and she might have taken our name, but in her heart, I still think _she_ thought we'd leave her behind."

"Not ever," sniffed Esme, turning her back on the group to fish a shiny bauble from its paper wrapping. "I'll make her see it…"

"She _will_ see, darling," said Carlisle. "Just give her time."

Esme set the bauble on the mantle.

"Well…" She stood up straight. "Never mind that just now. She's safe, and asleep, and I daresay, exhausted. I don't think she'll wake before morning."

"I don't see anything out of the ordinary," said Alice at once. "I've checked."

"But you can't_ see_ her," chimed Emmett unhelpfully. "So even if she _were_ to wake up…"

"Oh, hush," Alice tossed a cushion at him. "She'll be _fine."_

"I know she'll be _fine,"_ said Emmett. "What I'm saying is that she might _wake up."_

"Regardless," Carlisle cut in, "she's asleep now, and I'd like to keep it that way. Please, keep the noise to a minimum."

Emmett, always the prankster, sealed his lips with an invisible lock, throwing the make-believe key over his shoulder.

"How long are you here, son?" Carlisle directed his attention to Edward instead.

"I don't know," admitted Edward. "Not long. I just came to check in."

"I see."

"It's still quite…" Edward took a deep, solitary breath, feeling the discomfort deep in his throat and chest. The scent was muted—the distance and barrier between him and her made it easier for him to control his thirst—but still it burned. The smouldering, red coals of predatory _need_ flared up into licking, orange flames the moment he breathed her in.

"…pungent," he finished lamely.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine," he said quietly. "That child is in no danger, I assure you."

"I know that," dismissed Carlisle. "My concern is for _you."_

"Don't worry about me, Carlisle," chuckled Edward. "I assure you—I'm fine. I'll _be_ fine."

"I'm sorry it's hard for you," he said gently. "Did you want to come upstairs…?"

"Not yet," said Edward quietly. "I'm not keen to test myself just yet."

"_Just yet?"_ Rosalie spoke up, a note of concern in her voice this time. "What's that mean?"

"Nothing," Edward shook his head. He was thinking of the vision—of that sweet, open face deep in slumber, resting so gently on her blue pillows…

"He's fine, Rose." In Jasper's mind, Edward could see the unique and fascinating way Jasper's gift presented itself—it amazed Edward how intuitively his brother read these strange signs. In that moment, Edward saw the family as Jasper did—Alice, snugly ensconced in a haze of deep and resonant purple, Esme in a flurry of blue and green, and Carlisle, as always, a steady and radiant yellow.

And when Jasper looked at him, he saw himself encased in a kaleidoscopic cascade of hues—joyful violet, serene yellow, comfortable green, frustrated orange, a hint of blue worry and even a dash of coral excitement… but none of the black rage or scarlet lust that marked him as a _threat._

The colours almost made him dizzy.

"Don't think I'm being a jerk," Emmett cut in, speaking once again from his place by the banister, "but why'd you come up here?"

Edward chuckled.

"Just to check in, like I said," he repeated. "I have no intention of staying."

He saw his mother's mouth turn down.

_I wish you'd reconsider._

"I can't, Esme," he said softly. Though his mother hadn't spoken her thoughts out loud, Edward knew that the rest of the family could devise her meaning just the same. "Maybe someday… but I won't risk it just now. I'm a danger to her, and I don't trust myself not to make things worse."

"There is no _worse,"_ said Esme at once. "Things aren't _bad_ to begin with…"

"She's grown fonder of me, I'll admit," The letters she had written to him in her childish, chicken-scratch scrawl provided ample proof of that, "but I don't doubt that if she had to face me again, she'd be afraid."

"No…" Esme shook her head and turned her back again. "No, she's not afraid…"

"Regardless." He held up a hand. "I can't risk it… I _won't_ risk it."

"Then where will you go?" asked Alice softly. She was watching him in that knowing way—the way she always did when she could read him like an open book.

"I'm thinking Europe," shrugged Edward. "Maybe Scandinavia. Or London. I haven't decided yet."

"We're taking Bella to London," said Carlisle quickly, flashing a grin at Edward, whose face was a mask of shock. "I'm going to check out the old homestead—or what's left of it, anyways—and see if I can't give it a new start."

In all the years Edward had known Carlisle, he had never—not once—been back to the old home his father had left him back in England. Of course, according to the deed, the land had originally belonged to Carlisle's long-removed grandfather, but with the help of some less-than-honest legal council and a few well-placed dollars, the property—which was on the verge of being declared a heritage site—still bore the Cullen family name.

"That's… wonderful," said Edward, fishing for words. "Do you think she'll like it? What made you change your mind?"

"Oh, I think so." Even in his mind, Carlisle had nothing but hope for the trip. "I've shown her some old artifacts and pictures from my study, and she's been more than happy to help me dig up some research on the place."

Edward smiled.

"And as for what changed my mind…" His father blew out a long breath. "I suppose it's time, that's all. Some archaeologists are interested in taking a look through to see if there's anything left worth preserving, and I can't deny them that. It's history, after all, but I have to go first to make sure there's nothing…_ sentimental_ left."

Edward sighed.

"I suppose there'll be something leftover—assuming no one's pillaged it before now. Pages from father's bible, perhaps, or some of my sister's dolls…"

A slender, blonde girl, no older than twelve, flashed through Carlisle's mind with blurred edges and darkened corners—the hallmarks of frail human memories.

"I'm sure the child will enjoy it," said Carlisle finally. The girl in the memory morphed all at once—her light hair turned dark, her legs grew shorter and when she turned, Edward saw the sweet face of the child upstairs instead of the mystery face of the girl from a time long gone.

The grin Carlisle imagined on the child's face made Edward feel warm.

* * *

As the hours rolled on, Edward helped as his family worked. Together as a unit, they made quick work of the boxes in the living room, and they had the kitchen set up before the antique grandfather clock in the downstairs parlour struck two. They were tireless, just like they always were, and only as the first hints of blue replaced the black on the eastern horizon, did they sit back down in the living room.

The house was spotless.

"It's going to be a clear day, I think…" said Esme, glancing carefully out the window. "We'll have to draw the shades."

"She doesn't know?" asked Edward, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"No," admitted Esme. "We haven't found the right time to tell her. She's too young to understand, and if she were to tell anyone else…"

"Like who?"

"Anyone," said Carlisle solemnly. "Aro is a long-time friend of mine and he's been quite lenient with me in the past," he glanced subtly around at the six family members he'd acquired over the years—the Volturi were not fond of large groups of potential rivals, "but I don't want to provoke him by spilling our secret to a human. It would do nothing but put her in danger, and I won't have that. Not yet…"

He shook his head, resolute.

"I'd never risk her safety. Perhaps when she's older and can decide on her own which option to take, especially if she's given an ultimatum…"

"What do you mean, _ultimatum?"_ Rosalie's voice was waspish.

"I mean nothing," said Carlisle quickly. "Nothing yet. And maybe nothing _ever._"

His sister pursed her lips, sitting back in her chair with a renewed stiffness.

"We can't take her future, Carlisle."

Carlisle shook his head.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"We _won't_ come to it," said Rosalie again. Her eyes bore into his with an unnerving intensity. "I mean it. She's going to have a wonderful, beautiful, long,_ human_ life. She's going to grow up, go to college, marry some man who will _never_ be good enough for her, have lots of beautiful babies…"

"That's all anyone wants for her," said Carlisle gently, the sudden fear in Rose's eyes anchoring his resolve. "And so, in order to achieve that goal, we must remain discreet."

Five nods—one from each family member besides Edward—were the only reply.

The first cracks of dawn—a weak, pale yellow seeping in through the eastern window—made Edward stir.

"I should get moving," he said regretfully, his heart full of sudden sadness. "Before it gets too bright and she wakes up…"

"Oh, surely not…" Esme glanced anxiously at the clock. It flashed 5:02. "She won't be up for hours yet, Edward…"

"All the same," he sighed. "I don't want to risk it."

_I'm sorry, Esme._

"You must come to visit," she said, pulling him into a tight and fervent hug. "I mean it. It's not the same when we're not together…"

"I know." _He really did._

"Christmas isn't too far off."

"I'll be here," he promised.

"And maybe we can meet up in Europe," said Esme again. "If we meet someplace outside, it's bound to be easier for you…"

"We'll see."

"I love you."

"I love you too, mom."

When Esme let him go, Edward was ashamed at the sight of her bright, liquid eyes.

He hated disappointing his mother.

"Wait!" Alice jumped up from the sofa. "You have to say goodbye…"

"I am."

"No. I mean…"

She glanced significantly at the staircase, before which Emmett once again stood sentry.

"No, Alice."

"I've _seen _it."

"I won't risk it."

"You'll be _fine,"_ said Alice quickly. "I mean it, Edward. Go."

"I'll wake her."

"You won't."

"I'm not to be trusted…"

"We'll be with you," she said softly. "Jasper, Emmett, Rose, and I. And Carlisle is right downstairs if anything happens."

Edward did not look at his father, but when he sensed no fight or protest from him, he glanced nervously at the long, towering staircase.

"Just for a moment," he said. He would appease his sister. "But at the first sign of trouble…"

"I'll drag you out myself," she said cheerfully. "Trust me, Edward. Go."

And in a blink, he and his siblings were hovering on the landing at the top of the stairs.

The scent was richer.

"She's just down…"

"I know," Edward interrupted Alice and a quiet admonishment. Of course she was there… he could almost _see_ her scent pouring out from the crack beneath the bedroom door…

When Alice threw open the door, it hit him like a brick wall. He felt the colour drain from his eyes as the burgeoning flame in his throat erupted into a raging inferno. For a long moment, his brain was wiped clean. He could feel the predator rising up in him, the urge to bite growing stronger and stronger…

Rosalie's sharp, strong hand clasping down on his shoulder brought him back to reality, and in a rush of colour, sound, and sense, he came back to himself.

Jasper, standing between Edward and the door, eyed him with overt and open suspicion.

"You alright?" he drawled, and Edward instantly recognized the tone of apprehension. "You've gone pale, and your eyes…"

"I'm alright," said Edward honestly. He held the air in his lungs, refusing to take another breath. Still, even as he closed his lungs to the smell of her, he could still feel the antagonistic embers licking at his chest and throat, demanding to be satisfied, to be _quenched…_

"Stop it," said Jasper at once, hitting him with a wave of calm that almost made him giddy. "If you're not in control of yourself, go back downstairs and forget it. Alice's vision be damned."

Edward felt his father's steady form at his back as Rosalie's long nails digging into the flesh of his shoulder increased their pressure.

"Son?"

"I'm fine," said Edward again, forcing himself to release his breath. He took in another, pungent breath and felt the fire reignite, but this time, he was able to push it aside.

"Better," said Jasper, taking a step back. "No one will think less of you if you turn back."

Edward shook his head.

He always finished what he started.

"Let me through," he said gruffly, glancing at Emmett, who stood in the girl's doorway. He couldn't see her yet, though the loud, muffled_ thumping_ of her heart told him exactly where she would be…

Rosalie held his hand in hers as they crossed the threshold of the child's room—not as a display of solidarity, but as a display of caution and strength.

Edward had no doubt that if he so much as _looked_ at the child the wrong way, Rosalie would toss him right through the large bay window.

And he wouldn't blame her one bit.

The child shifted in her bed.

Edward could see, even in the dull light from the budding sunshine outside, just what it was that had attracted his family so strongly to this one, tiny child. She was everything his sister had ever wanted—her brown, curling hair and her pink cheeks, still rounded with youth, reminded her wholly of Emmett. As Rose gazed at her, tousled and rumpled from sleep, Edward was privy to a cascade of dreams and memories—her sweet, little face lighting up with joy at the sight of a bookstore, the feel of her warm pulse racing through her palms as Rose held the little hand in her own, the joy of watching her tear through the wrapping paper on colourful gifts beneath a tall and ornate tree, the way her high, tender voice would sometimes lisp when she used too many s's in one sentence…

The beast, still raging in him, was caged by these memories. This was a child—_their_ child—and Edward knew then and there that he could not be the one to strike her down.

"Goodbye, little one," he said softly—too softly, he knew, for the girl to hear him. She seemed to sense other bodies in the room, however, and shifted lazily under her sheets and blankets. He saw the imprint of a wrinkled pillowcase on her face and her wispy, stray curls stuck to her cheek…

Impulsively, without so much as a thought, he reached down to brush them away.

Rosalie let him do it.

"Someday, we'll try again, you and I," he said. He knelt down by the bed. "But for now, I've got to go."

The girl shifted again.

"Sleep well," he whispered. _She was so warm…_ "…and be safe."

She sighed in her sleep.

And just like in the vision, exactly as Alice had foreseen, he leaned down over her softly sleeping face and pressed a kiss—quick and gentle—to the warm and downy cheek.

"That's enough," he said roughly, pulling himself back upright. His entire being was on fire. "Let me go, please."

He shrugged his sister away and dashed, as fast as he dared, back down the staircase. On his way down, he heard Bella mumble incoherently in her sleep.

_He had done it._

"You did well, son…"

"Thank you, Carlisle." Edward barked out a laugh. "I don't know if _well_ is the right word, but…"

"You did _well,"_ he repeated. "Rome wasn't built in a day."

"No, it wasn't…" agreed Edward.

"It's progress," said his father, and a unabashed, triumphant pride echoed through every part of his mind. "You did well, considering where we were last time."

"Thanks."

The sun crested over the eastern horizon and Edward blinked, glancing down at his own glittering, shining hand.

"That's my cue," he said, stepping instinctively out of the light. Esme hastily pulled down the shade. "I'll see you all again…"

"Don't wait too long," said Esme gently. "I know you get caught up with your traveling, but remember—we're always here, waiting for you."

"Thank you, mom." He accepted her hug with due patience. "I'll be sure to call. Or write."

"Make sure that you do."

"And don't forget Bella," said Alice. "She has no idea you were here, so don't forget to send her letters. She's worried you won't know the new address…"

"How could I forget?" asked Edward, grinning. The backseat of his car—waiting for him in a parking garage in Anchorage—contained a stack of the childish missives he'd acquired in Asia and Australia. "Tell her I'm waiting to hear how her story turned out."

"I will," vowed Esme at once. "And _please…"_ she took his face in her hands, "be careful."

"I always am."

"We'll miss you, brother." Emmett gave him a quick, one-armed hug.

"I'll be back."

"Take lots of pictures."

"I always do," chuckled Edward. He inched his way towards the door. "I'll see you all shortly. Give Bella my love."

_Please be careful, son. And remember—we'll always be here when you want to come home._

"Thanks, dad." Edward slipped back into his damp sneakers.

"Stay away from werewolves."

"I always do, Alice," chuckled Edward.

"Make sure you hunt regularly."

"Yes, ma'am." He stepped out into the cold, morning air.

"Buy some new shoes when you hit Anchorage!"

"Maybe!" he called back, chuckling. Alice was leaning over the porch railing, waving heartily as he backed away.

"We love you!"

"I love you too…" He shook his head as he neared the treeline.

"Be safe!"

_Goodbye…_

And as the whole face of the sun—blazing, yellow, and bright—appeared with sudden ferocity over the edge of the eastern horizon, Edward turned away from the great, stone house, the cold, snowy frost flying under his feet and the arctic wind at his back.


End file.
